


The Teacher - Missing Scenes

by orphan_account



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Incest, Light BDSM, M/M, Moresomes, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threesome - M/M/M, elronduil - Freeform, thrandolas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1. Reunions 1 - Thranduil sails to the West. Is Elrond ready for him? (for paradis_artificiels)<br/>2. Extra Lessons 1 - Legolas receives a lesson in restraint from Elrond (for TAFKAB)<br/>3. Transgression - Young Thranduil finds himself in trouble with his teacher (for TAFKAB)<br/>4. Crushed - Young Thranduil loses his sword fight against Elrond and is dismissed, from Thranduil's pov. (for lunarlumina)<br/>5. Thranduil at Dagorlad - Thranduil's point of view (for TAFKAB)<br/>6. Galion - The morning after... (for Sandgrain)<br/>7. Galion 2<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunions 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** This chapter is not really part of The Teacher. It was written as an AU chapter, and fits in where Elrond is accompanying Thranduil and Legolas back to Mirkwood after the first White Council meeting. Enjoy!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Tolkien's worlds, including Middle Earth, Lord of the Rings, or any of the characters. I do not profit from my work.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil sails to the West. Is Elrond ready for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Oh, this is not how it happens, but in the spirit of imagining a thing, here is one option... perhaps.
> 
> Written for paradis_artificiels

Reunions 1

_Valinor, sometime in the fourth age..._

 

“More, half elf,” begged Oropher with a smile of enjoyment as Elrond moved hard and deep inside him. “Oh, yes!” he said, tossing his head in pleasure. “Just like that,” he moaned.

It had been many years since their reunion, and still every single time they ended up here, it was perfect. Oropher's beauty was like a drug. The relaxed curl of his hands where Elrond held his wrists down against the pillows, the pale beauty of his skin next to the platinum of his hair. His eyes were closed in passion, his eyelashes a dark charcoal grey against his flushed cheeks. His lips were still red from Elrond's kisses, and seeing that made Elrond dip his head to taste them again, overcome.

Oropher had dallied with many more lovers than Elrond himself, and he often went about like a bee in Aman, dipping into one here, spending a full hour there. Yet he seemed to favour these times, and they spent entire days together, as if they would never get their fill of each other.

“Do not come yet...” Oropher said on a sigh and an arch of his body that made Elrond almost growl in lust, breaking the kiss and letting go of his wrists.

Elrond stared down at Oropher, and for around the millionth time this century he resisted invoking the Valar, given that they were now in a place where one of them might hear him. Instead, he buried his face in Oropher's blond hair, still moving inside him nevertheless. When Oropher's body tightened around him in orgasm it felt so good Elrond did not know how he managed to hold on, yet he did.

“Now, stop,” Oropher breathed, holding him close, his hands in Elrond's hair, fingertips pressing against his scalp. “Outlast me,” he urged, and this was not a new preoccupation of his, but Elrond tried. Most of the time when Oropher insisted on this, he failed completely, as if the words of restraint had the opposite effect to that intended.

This time, he had used all of his experience to get Oropher there quickly, hoping that he would be able to resist following him into release.

“I don't want to stop,” Elrond groaned, almost to himelf, in desperate need, still giving Oropher's relaxed body the occasional thrust, something he couldn't help. His left arm was hooked beneath the blond elf's leg now, and he turned his head, pressing a kiss against the inside of his lover's knee. “Oropher...”

“Save yourself,” Oropher said, his voice deep with satisfaction. His lover stretched beneath him, and Oropher's body tightened around Elrond in such a delightful way it almost undid him, but he did not come. If he lasted, Oropher would pleasure him in some wonderful way. Oh, it was always well worth the effort! Yet this time, Oropher said something that very nearly broke Elrond's resolve completely.

“Legolas is waiting for you after this. He will want you willing and able.”

Elrond made a sound of disbelief, and he felt himself suddenly so close the edge it was painful, his grip on Oropher tightening so much it must hurt him. Oropher only laughed at his reaction. “You brought this all on yourself, you know,” Oropher said. Elrond thought that might be debatable. “To think you missed me so much you became entangled with every one of my descendants.”

“Yes,” Elrond said, feeling petulant, but his body burned for release. “It's entirely your fault for getting yourself killed like that,” Elrond accused, but there was no resentment at all in him. How could there be? The terms of eternity were endless love. He gave Oropher a couple of sharp thrusts to mark his words, but going on how Oropher moaned, then giggled infuriatingly, Elrond thought he only enjoyed it all the more.

“Oh, do not blame me! You taught Legolas to forever desire your touch, _meleth nín_ ,” he teased, struggling a little to free himself. “Over weeks you did it. Teaching him to kiss and touch and lick, and...” Oropher paused, then laughed a little. “Love.” Elrond sighed, remembering those times. “I had no part in that.”

“No, you didn't. Thranduil did,” Elrond moaned, finally giving in and pulling out of Oropher, though his body protested mightily against it. “I need release!” he gasped, rolling over onto his back, his eyes closed as Oropher sat up beside him.

“Imagine how it will be when he finally arrives here, half-elf,” Oropher whispered wickedly, dipping his head to place a kiss on Elrond's chest. “I do not think he will be pleased if you spend your passion before he has the chance to play with you. I am merely giving you the opportunity to practice now, beforehand.”

“Oropher!” But before he could remonstrate further, his lover was gone, leaving him alone and unsatisfied on the bed.

Despite what Oropher had told him only moments before, when someone joined him there, Elrond thought he had returned, and he rolled to trap Oropher below him once more with a glad moan. “I knew you were only playing with me,” he said softly in reproach, seeking for entry inside him again. So it was a shock when the laughter that greeted his actions was not quite the same, not as intimate and sensual.

“Legolas?” Elrond said, confused, and he stopped, raising his hands to the blond elf's face. And it was true. They really had exchanged places, passing him from one to the other. 

“Kiss me first, at least, _Peredhil_ ,” Legolas said, his eyes twinkling, almost laughing again, and Elrond dropped his head to Legolas' shoulder in a kind of defeat, groaning.

“Legolas, please!” he said, feeling so desperate there were no other words. Yet he obeyed then, claiming the Prince's lips passionately, whispering heated breath into him, letting his tongue achieve above what he wished for below, if only Legolas would allow it.

“Kiss me here,” Legolas said when he was done, pointing out a space below his left shoulder, and Elrond obeyed, followed his fingers as they pointed. Here, there, all over, until Elrond was sure all he knew was the taste of Legolas skin, the warmth of his hidden places, the scent of him was distracting beyond belief. Kissing, licking, sucking while Legolas directed him, the promise of his body keeping Elrond in check so that he followed every instruction.

“Now, do not be neglectful,” said Legolas, doing a halfway decent job of being stern. “You must touch me too.” And he actually began to guide Elrond's hands, the entire lesson beginning again.

When he finally did get his way with Legolas, Elrond did not last at all. At least, not for the first few times Oropher and Legolas played with him like this, for they began to do it often. Then exclusively. One after the other. It was a wicked, tormenting thing. Yet they would not relent, until one day when Elrond buried himself in Legolas' heat and tightness, sure he could not last another second. Legolas' body was the treasure he endured it all for, because it meant he could let go.

“Do not come yet,” Legolas whispered, drawing in a breath of lust as Elrond claimed him. And as with the lessons, the entire thing began again. Over and over. Practicing, until Elrond was sure they must be conspiring with Nimbrethil in this. It seemed like she must be advising them on it, how to stretch out his control until he could satisfy them both without losing it. Until he felt he would be driven insane. He did beg Legolas, sometimes, lost in pleasure, only to find himself back at the beginning with Oropher, confused and disoriented.

Neither of them would satisfy him any more until he managed it, no matter how desperately he pleaded, longing to feel one of them inside him. That torture was almost as hard to bear. And yet it was still sweet, still he desired them, no matter what they did, or how they denied him. When he got through it, they gave him exactly what he wanted then. It was his reward.

Between them they trained him, until he could do it repetitively. Reliably, though at the end of their sessions, each time, Elrond felt he was out of his mind with want. 

Then, one day, there was a change.

Oropher had been and gone, his taste on Elrond's tongue still. Legolas was here with him, the younger elf completely satiated in his arms. Elrond would take his reward now, but then Legolas pushed his hands away and calmly went around restraining him, tying him to the bed, as he sometimes did when they practised.

“No!” Elrond growled, so lost that Legolas had him tied down before he fully realised what was afoot. “This is not fair!” Legolas said nothing, though he gave Elrond a look of something that was not quite apology. “Not again,” Elrond begged, his mind clouded by lust and near pain. “Legolas, please! No more!” The Prince bit his bottom lip as he looked on Elrond, who was now completely helpless. He struggled against the bindings with real anger, not understanding, past caring, pushed past all thought and reason.

Legolas drew in a short little breath, clearly considering something. “ _Ada_ is here,” he said slowly, then smiled, trailing a finger up Elrond's right shin, deliberately provocative. “I think he will love to find you like this.” And then he was gone.

Some time passed, and Elrond tried to free himself, aware all the while of his desperate need for contact, his erection hard and hot on his belly. He shouted and yelled, but was ignored, until he quietened, his struggles ceasing. Then, at last, the door opened. 

Elrond turned his eyes to the door, and his lids lowered in sudden rekindled desire. Thranduil was here. He tried to turn his body to face the King, but it was impossible. Thranduil sat on the side of the bed, fully dressed, one hand reaching out to Elrond's face.

“Oh, _lass nín_ ,” he said, smiling. “I would journey a thousand such seas to find you waiting like this. You are a sight I have dreamed of.”

“Master,” Elrond said, nuzzling Thranduil's hand shamelessly. Thranduil raised his eyebrows at that, looking quite regal, but then suddenly lie down and stretched himself out at the side of Elrond, still dressed. He sighed, happy, and draped one arm over Elrond's waist.

“They seem to have done quite a good job of tying you down for me, Elrondlas,” he observed. “Tell me, did you satisfy _Ada_?”

Elrond nodded. 

“And Legolas? Him too?” 

“Yes,” Elrond groaned, fighting the restraints again, rebellious now.

“Very good.” Thranduil smiled. “I have missed you! Will you satisfy me now?” 

At the thought of it, Elrond whimpered. He simply could not imagine another. “No... please...” he said faintly, imagining himself going through it all again, for the third time. He could not do it. He couldn't! Thranduil laid his head down and laughed, his voice as deep and sonorous as Elrond remembered. 

“No? Oh, _lass nín_! You chose the wrong one of us to refuse. I will make you beg for it now.” 

Thranduil kissed him then, leisurely and effortless. He demanded something from Elrond, and it was a domination neither Oropher or Legolas could hope to match. Elrond moaned, Thranduil's hand coming up to hold his jaw, keep him still, make him accept. Suddenly Elrond shuddered in long-delayed release, his body shaking. Thranduil pulled back, surprised, looking down.

“Or,” he said, clearly astonished, “perhaps we should start with your lack of self-control.”

“Thranduil,” Elrond said at last, when he felt he could speak again, remembering all of those endless days. There were too many. They were too long. “I would like to see you manage two-hundred and forty-five years with those two, goading you on.”

Thranduil just stared at him.

“Well, _Celebmîr nín_ ,” Elrond said, chastising him. “You could at least apologise for being late. Didn't I teach you that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment – I will respond! :)


	2. Reunions 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas gets a lesson in restraint from Elrond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** This chapter was written for TAFKAB. This is an extra lesson from when Legolas first visits Elrond and Imladris, sent by Thranduil. Enjoy!

Extra Lessons 1

This had been on his mind since he had brought the subject up during their lesson on punishment. Elrond fingered the sashes he owned and picked out some particularly soft ones made of silk. 

Turning with them in his hands, he stood for a long moment in admiration. Legolas was still sleeping, sprawled on his back on the white sheets and pillows, his forearms resting beside his face so that Elrond could see the inside of his wrists. 

Suddenly, he was very tempted to tie Legolas to the bed whilst still in reverie, imagining easily how he would react to finding himself restrained upon awakening. The thought of it made him draw in a deep breath of desire, and then it was too late anyway: Legolas stirred.

Elrond watched in silence as he rolled over, one arm stretching out to the side of the bed that was empty before he sat up, disoriented. When he saw Elrond standing watching him, he smiled in invitation.

“Why are you over there, so far away?” he asked, already wanting. “Come here,” he said, and Elrond obeyed gladly, dropping the items on the bed as Legolas reached out, and then they were in each other's arms, tumbling into the softness of the pillows. 

Over the past few days, he had discovered that Legolas' first sleepy kisses in the morning were quite endearing. Legolas was easy to take advantage of at those times, so easy to love like this that Elrond had to admit he had already given in.

When they had finished saying good morning to each other, Elrond sat up a bit, Legolas' arms linked around his waist, the blond elf's face pressed against his chest. Usually, now would be the time he demanded Elrond to use hands on him, but he forestalled that with a question. “How do you feel about a new lesson today?” he asked, and his pupil looked up at him, excitement in his eyes.

“Yes! What will it be?” he asked, so terribly enthusiastic that Elrond laughed, delighted as ever by him. He picked up the sashes again, and showed them to the Prince, whose eyes darkened.

Quite suddenly, Elrond found himself on his back as Legolas crawled over to dominate him, understanding immediately what the new lesson was. “Yes,” he said. “You would be my helpless victim instead of what you are.” Clearly, he remembered.

Elrond felt Legolas' morning erection pressing against his hip, and for an instant he felt extraordinarily weak. “No,” he said. “Or at least, not yet.” Legolas didn't move, didn't give one inch. Elrond let the tiniest of smiles twitch at the corner of his lips, and then felt just a little bit wicked. “You must allow me to show you first.”

Something changed then, the tenor of the desire in Legolas, but it was still there. He backed away, sitting on the side of the bed. “You want to do it to me?” he asked, something of fear and arousal at play in his tone.

“Yes,” Elrond said, feeling somewhat liberated as he turned to lay on his side.

“I will not be a victim,” said Legolas, something cold in his voice now. “Not even yours.”

Elrond smiled. So that was what bothered him. “What say you to being my plaything then?” he suggested seductively, and Legolas turned to look at him. “My toy. To do with whatever I please.”

That pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and Elrond knew his words were working. He let them settle for a long moment, until Legolas spoke again. “This idea,” he said slowly, his eyes wide. “It creates a strange kind of fear in me. I should not want it.” He appeared to consider, then held out one of his hands hesitantly, as if afraid Elrond would chop it off.

Elrond silently took hold of his wrist and encouraged him to lie back on the bed. “You will not hurt me?” Legolas said then, quietly, almost pleading. Elrond smiled.

“I could never hurt you,” he said, taking one of the silk sashes into his other hand as he sat up. “Do you trust me?” he asked. Slowly, Legolas nodded, biting his lip. “Then watch what I do, so that you know how to do it to me later on,” he instructed.

That seemed to calm Legolas somewhat, even though it was his hand being bound to the bedstead. Elrond took his time to make the knot, demonstrating how he wrapped the silk around Legolas' wrist so that there was still a little room, enough for a finger to fit inside the binding. “If you make these too tight, they will hurt,” he advised, quite serious, and Legolas nodded.

Elrond walked around to the other side of the bed, vaguely aware that Legolas was testing the single restraint. He took the Prince's other wrist and gave it the same treatment as Legolas watched the repeated demonstration in silence.

After that, he made quick work of Legolas' ankles, securing them in the same fashion to the bottom corners of the white painted iron frame bed as the Prince gasped and whimpered in arousal. Elrond did not look, for if he did, he suspected he would not be able to finish his task.

When he did finally look up, the last of the knots completed, Legolas was staring at him, his breath coming fast and shallow , trembling in desire. Legolas pulled at the bindings and closed his eyes as if to escape. “Are you afraid?” Elrond asked. The sight of the beautiful Prince tied to the bed made him almost ache with want, and he knew without touching himself that he was already hard.

“Elrond,” Legolas said on a moan. “Why do I like it so much?” The innocent sincerity of the question made Elrond give in and touch himself briefly, drawing in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Because you are giving yourself to me completely, without reservation,” he told Legolas. “Because you are inviting me to use you in any way that I wish.”

Legolas gave a lingering sigh, and opened his eyes again, cloudy with pleasure. He struggled, very slightly, and then whimpered. Elrond moved to sit by the side of him, resting a hand on his helpless body, feeling him shiver at the significance of the touch because he could do nothing to prevent it. 

“How do you wish to use me?” Legolas asked, looking at him again, stumbling over the words a little. Elrond had a sudden vision of Legolas on the bed, his hips raised with pillows, while Elrond took him, over and over, thrusting deep inside his body until Legolas cried and pleaded with him for release and freedom.

If he were to do that, Legolas would never allow anyone to restrain him again. Regretfully, Elrond let that fantasy go, but dragged his fingertips down over Legolas' belly, not quite touching his hardness.

Some of the vision must have showed in his face, for Legolas struggled again even as he moaned in powerless lust. “Touch me...” he begged.

“I think I will,” Elrond said, pretending to deliberate. “But with my lips.” So saying, he leaned over Legolas, placing his hands on the Prince's hips to keep him still, and captured his erect member with his mouth, instantly suckling as he moved his head down, then slowly dragged his lips back up. Legolas keened, and Elrond found that reaction quite rewarding.

Elrond took his time, giving pleasure but teasing too, just enough so Legolas would remain constantly aware of his captivity. But when he bent his will to finishing Legolas, the Prince did not last long. Elrond's experience was too great, and he swallowed everything Legolas gave him, ending with a series of lingering licks at his soft member that made Legolas shudder and almost giggle.

At last he sat up, and Legolas looked at him, eyes half-lidded in pleasure and satisfaction. “Very good, Legolas,” he said at last. “So beautiful. Being bound to my bed like this suits you very much.” The Prince moaned and turned his head on the pillows, so Elrond took advantage of that little movement to lean forward and bite his neck, leaving a little mark on his ivory skin.

Soon after that, he set Legolas free, and once he had done so, Legolas embraced him.

“Thank you, _Peredhil_ ,” he said, still shivering slightly, and Elrond laughed.

They had a break then, a leisurely bath and some sustenance. Although all the while, in Elrond's mind, he could not forget what awaited him, and his arousal never did fully die down. Even while he took his time to wash and comb out Legolas' beautiful hair. While he marvelled at Legolas' youthful exuberance and found himself stroking the Prince's second erection in the bath. Even while he nibbled on slices of apple and cheese and hot toast, he found his gaze moving constantly to the bed, and the silk sashes that lay upon it. 

By the time they returned there, Elrond was almost quivering with tension. Had he guided Legolas enough? He had shown it to him, but did he fully understand the trust involved? Elrond bit his lip as he reclined on the bed for Legolas, not entirely surprised to find himself hard almost immediately.

Legolas took the first of his wrists, and Elrond swallowed. “You remember how to tie the knots?” he asked, though that wasn't what he wanted to ask. He wanted reassurance. He thought Legolas might see that too, judging by the small smile his question provoked.

“I remember,” Legolas said, quite self-assured as he set to work. Elrond concentrated on his breathing, trying to ignore the growing nervous trembling in his limbs. It became worse despite his efforts when Legolas took hold of his other hand.

He silently tested the restraints when Legolas went to work on his ankles, and they were very secure. He wouldn't be escaping them until Legolas set him free. He noted the shaky nature of his breath, and tried to control it, but it was impossible, especially when Legolas walked back to the bed.

“Can you escape?” Legolas asked, as if uncertain. Elrond shook his head, but then realised that wasn't enough. He sighed and pulled at the knots Legolas had made. After a few seconds he really did test them, but there was no give at all. He sighed again, but this time it came out as a breathy moan.

“I am yours, Legolas, to do with as you want.” He licked his lips, and took another one of those shallow breaths. “As I have been since you first set foot in Imladris.” 

Why had he said that? It was true, and yet... Elrond watched Legolas catch the meaning, and his eyes darkened. Elrond shut his quickly. What would Legolas do? Inexperienced, curious, playful Legolas. If he hadn't been so nervous, Elrond might have been able to think. What had Legolas wanted from the beginning, over and over again?

The Prince would not do what he did, Elrond knew that when he felt oiled fingers pressing beneath him, seeking entry. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he began to understand, and he moaned suddenly, loudly.

“Please!” he whispered, but there was no way to say it. His own words came back to taunt him then. 

_Because you are giving yourself to me completely, without reservation. Because you are inviting me to use you in any way that I wish._

The vision he had seen of Legolas, crying, begging, while Elrond took all the pleasure his body could provide. It resolved itself into something more truthful now. The one begging in the vision was himself, and for all that he found he still wanted it anyway. 

Elrond felt one of Legolas' fingers penetrate him, and it was a difficult angle because of the way he was bound to the bed. He shook his head, and then said something he was sure to regret. Something that would guarantee his own fate, but the inclination to instruct was too deeply embedded in him to resist.

“Use the pillows, Legolas,” he suggested patiently. “Put them beneath my hips and you will find it easier to touch me that way.” _Easier to take me_ , his mind provided, and Elrond shook his head and groaned.

The finger pulled out of him, too fast, making him inhale sharply. But then Legolas was taking the soft pillows from behind his head and following his instructions. He was a party to this. It was all his own fault. Elrond felt his lower body raised up by the cushioning, and as a result it increased the tension of the bindings so that he could not move at all. Not even to struggle.

If Legolas noticed his sudden stillness, he did not mention it. Instead, one slender finger pushed inside of him again. But there was a purpose to Legolas' touch besides the usual, and Elrond felt it. The one finger pressed against him inside, methodically, all around, further in. As if Legolas was looking for something, and quite suddenly Elrond knew this could be worse.

“Legolas, wait!” he said then, too late, because Legolas found what he was looking for. 

Elrond really could not move, but all at once he didn't want to anyway. His breath was merely a single slow open-mouthed inhale as Legolas rubbed that finger against his prostate. He might have closed his eyes, he couldn't tell. Everything felt warm, and he could feel his erection leaking. He managed to raise his head enough to see that he hadn't come. But his skin was becoming shiny wet with clear fluid. His head dropped down with a little thud onto the mattress, but Elrond felt he might be falling.

Legolas suddenly seemed to note Elrond's silence and surrender. The finger stopped massaging, but didn't move away and Elrond actually did cry. Little broken sobs of pleasure that only slowly faded. 

“D-don't...” he shivered, all the way down to his toes. “Don't stop.” He should have explained this, when he'd taken Legolas and the Prince had felt it for himself. But he hadn't, and he was very sorry for it. Now, he was certain to be tormented.

“What is it? What makes you do this?” asked Legolas, all curiosity, and then pressed it again once as if to measure Elrond's reaction. Elrond moaned this time, given time to express the pleasure. Again, and again he moaned for Legolas. It was completely beyond his control. Legolas giggled at him.

“Oh, don't,” he said, and then Legolas did it again. Elrond forgot what he was meant to be saying. Privately, he vowed to repay Legolas for this, in exactly this way. 

After a minute more of the pleasure and torture, it seemed Legolas was finally feeling his own lust, and his fingers stopped that internal massage and spread oil in him quickly. He was getting to be quite proficient at that part, and Elrond secretly marked it. 

Now it was to be the vision from earlier. Legolas entered him fast and deep, making Elrond cry out in the quiet of the Prince's room. The oil and massage made his body welcoming, and Legolas took full advantage, his thrusts so deep that Elrond was soon calling out his name. And he begged to be set free from the cruel bindings. Legolas did not relent. He begged for Legolas to touch him, and at least there, eventually, he obtained some mercy, feeling Legolas' hand wrap around him. So good!

It didn't take Elrond long to come, but it took Legolas much longer. So much so that Elrond felt a little sore by the time the Prince came inside him. But then, at last, Legolas released him from the knots, and Elrond knew they had hurt for some time, but he sighed when he saw tell tale red lines on his wrists and ankles. Legolas bit his lip.

“Did I do it wrong?” he asked, obviously worried, and Elrond had just enough energy left to laugh slowly. 

“No. You didn't. In fact, we can probably say you did all of that very right.” He got Legolas to put the pillows back where they should be, and then held him close. Elrond was so tired. Maybe, just for an hour. Rest. He yawned, and Legolas fidgeted.

“Do not bother me in my sleep, _pen neth_ ,” Elrond warned. “I mean it.” He felt truly used, and he needed to be undisturbed.

“I will be good,” he said. “I promise,” and Legolas brushed lips against his. Then, so very quietly: “ _Le melin_ , Elrond.”

Elrond sighed, but there was no use denying it. “ _Le melin_ , Legolas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Thank you for reading – I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment. I will reply.


	3. Transgression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Written for TAFKAB on request, here is a snapshot of Elrond and Thranduil in Lindon when Thranduil is around sixty-five (fifteen years old in human terms) and Elrond is his teacher.
> 
> This is partly how Elrond unwittingly sets in motion Thranduil's proclivity towards Dom/sub play later in life. Here, young Thranduil is head over heels in love. Elrond really isn't.
> 
> I took this down to lengthen it, but failed. I did write the entirety of Thranduil's little ficlet, but I don't think my Elrond muse is going to let me post that, even with this given as context. Which is odd, I know, given what I have them doing to each other a few thousand years later. Sorry. *shrugs*

Transgression

It was another quiet afternoon in Elrond's study, marked only by the scratching of quills upon parchment. Elrond looked up, and let his eyes rest on the view outside the window. It was a beautiful day for autumn. Some youths were playing a kind of game on the grass outside, though their exuberant shouts were distant enough not to be a distraction. At least, not for him.

For a moment he looked across the room at Thranduil. His silver head was bent close to the desk as he continued to work, totally engrossed for a change. That was a novelty. Elrond briefly considered letting him go to join his friends outside; it was a glorious day, after all. He stared for a moment, his own quill poised in his hand, but Thranduil did not look up from his written work. Elrond smiled and remained silent, somewhat pleased. So be it. If the truth be told, he had grown used to having Thranduil around while he worked. 

Elrond looked back down at his desk. Education was endless, and Elrond thought Thranduil might be surprised to learn that his own teacher still sought knowledge. Elrond's own tutor, Maglor, had been less strict but Elrond had been happy to learn from him. Thranduil seemed to need a firmer hand to keep his attention where it should be.

Another hour or two passed, during which Elrond painstakingly copied pages of a book on advanced healing borrowed from Lindon's library. It was the job of a scribe, really, but Elrond knew the slow work would settle the knowledge the book contained in him more deeply than if he merely read it. 

“Pengolodh,” came a hesitant voice by the side of his chair. Elrond looked up, startled from his studies, suddenly aware of the passage of time. Outside the light was fading, and the youths had left the grass. Thranduil held out a sheet of parchment to him for his inspection. Elrond took it, looking into his student's eyes. His eyes narrowed when Thranduil could not quite seem to meet his gaze.

One sheet of parchment. Elrond's eyes skimmed the contents, and he was frowning.

“It is the essay on Laurelin you wished for,” Thranduil said, hesitant, and Elrond hushed him sharply. Thranduil knew better than to disturb him when he was reading written work.

There was very little here for such a long time spent writing. And yet Thranduil had been dearly focused on it, he knew. 

“Where is the rest of it?” he asked, waving the single page. Thranduil paled.

“The r-rest?” he stammered as Elrond stood up. Though Elrond was still a little taller than Thranduil, the youth was shooting up quickly, and he wouldn't be surprised if Oropher's son ended up being slightly taller than him in the end. 

Striding over to Thranduil's desk, Elrond was aware the youngster followed him hastily, and that he was alarmed about something was very clear. What had he been writing? Thranduil knew that when here he was to concentrate on the tasks Elrond set. He must have disobeyed. Again. Elrond sighed while Thranduil came to stand before him, placing himself between Elrond and his desk.

Raising an eyebrow, Elrond drummed his fingers heavily on the desk. “Move aside, Oropherion,” he said in warning, and Thranduil stepped aside, his head bowed immediately. It was an interesting reaction, and Elrond might have been inclined to study it if he was not more curious about whatever Thranduil had been so engrossed in, for clearly it wasn't his essay.

Leafing through the stack of papers on his desk, Elrond found several sheets of parchment covered with neat script buried at the bottom. He teased them out and before he could even look, Thranduil's hand closed over his wrist.

“Please,” the youth said. “Don't.” 

Elrond smiled without humour. “You know that your words and your actions mean I must.” He deliberately made his voice colder. “Now remove your hand from my arm.” Thranduil let him go immediately, his head bowing again. Elrond stared for a moment then looked to the sheets he held in his hand. His eyes scanned the first page, and he felt suddenly weak. He swallowed and recovered his composure before Thranduil had the chance to look up and see.

What to do about it? How to ensure it wouldn't happen again? Elrond's mind worked quickly. He wasn't unaware of Thranduil's interest, but for the child's own sake it must be nipped in the bud. Clearly, he hadn't done enough to dampen the boy's ardour. 

Elrond shook his head slightly as Thranduil looked up at him then just as quickly looked away, his cheeks burning red. He was embarrassed, and so he should be. Perhaps humiliation would teach this lesson then. 

_He is no longer a child._

The unwanted thought was dismissed as quickly as it appeared. Elrond had known Thranduil throughout his young life. He most certainly was not of age, and even if he had been, his father's sometime lover and his own lifelong teacher was not a valid choice for this kind of attention.

“Follow me to my desk, Thranduil,” he ordered at last, his voice cool and composed. He leafed through the sheets as he walked, to gather some kind of idea how explicit the work was so as not to be surprised. It was quite explicit for someone with no experience. He would use that in the hour or so to come.

When he was seated, he had Thranduil stand by his chair, and handed him the first sheet of parchment after reading through it carefully. 

“Read it aloud,” he ordered, and he was not ignorant of the quiet whimper that Thranduil gave under his breath.

“Please, Elrond, I didn't –”

“Address me with respect, even if you cannot think of me that way!” Elrond's voice rapped out the reprimand sharply, and beside his chair, Thranduil jumped.

“Yes, Pengolodh,” he said quietly.

“Read it,” Elrond said again. “Take care to enunciate everything clearly. Do not omit a single word, or I will have you start again from the beginning.”

“But, Sir,” Thranduil began.

“Now!” Elrond interrupted before he could excuse himself or attempt another apology. “Else I will send you from here and you will not return.”

The next time Thranduil spoke, he read the first paragraph of his composition. 

“One day when I was working Elrond came to stand behind my chair in the study to watch what I was doing and sometimes he would correct me as I worked but this day was very much different from the others.” He drew in a shuddering breath.

“You are short of breath. Why?” Elrond demanded, establishing eye contact as soon as Thranduil looked up from the page. His cheeks were still stained red, the tips of his ears too. 

“Because I am afraid,” Thranduil confessed quietly, his eyes wide because he did not know what was expected of him.

“No. That is not the reason,” Elrond informed him, his voice carefully emotionless. “Read the first paragraph again, and see if you can grasp it.”

Again he read, and again he drew a sudden breath. “I did not put breathing space in my writing, Pengolodh,” he said in a kind of horrified understanding, staring at Elrond. 

“No, you did not. Do you think this is a comfortable thing to read?” he asked politely. Thranduil looked down at his feet, as if wishing that the floor would swallow him.

“No, Sir,” he said eventually.

“And why should we always strive for quality in our compositions?”

“To give pleasure to the reader.” Elrond saw the first twinkling of tears as the boy looked up, but Thranduil blinked them away as if furious, sniffling a little. 

“I take no pleasure in this, Thranduil.” Elrond shook his head. “Continue.”

Thranduil read on, and Elrond interrupted often, pointing out grammar mistakes with the clinical critique he reserved for much more accomplished writers than Thranduil. Perhaps that was a little cruel, but he wished to make this lesson stick in Thranduil's mind. There could be no repeat of this, however naively meant.

Thranduil passed from shame, to humiliation, to upset, then to resentment. By the time he was close to the end, he was completely miserable. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he read the words aloud. These were his private thoughts, but Elrond could not afford him mercy. Elrond played with a long wooden ruler that was on his desk, using it to give gravitas to his criticism, and he noted the way Thranduil focused on it, becoming calmer, so he continued to use it.

“'I know. I will teach you this too, pen neth. Would you like that?'” Thranduil read the dialogue and paused, cringing, as if he was swallowing his pride. Probably, he was. Elrond sighed inwardly, though outwardly he maintained his stern demeanour – for both their sakes.

Thranduil read the next part more quietly. He still made certain to keep his voice as clear as possible, though it broke sometimes. Elrond did not insist on him beginning again. He was sure this was punishment enough.

“I thought I would die of pleasure at those words, combined with the skilful caress of his hand, and I came suddenly – couldn't help it – imagining my nights filled with him as well as my days. In his bed, naked bodies close together. He is a good teacher. I would have this.”

“I am so sorry, Pengolodh. Please forgive me.” At first, Elrond thought Thranduil continued to read, but then he looked up from the page, his eyes full of anguish. His gaze strayed to the ruler Elrond held in his hand, and he tapped the long edge of it against the desktop slowly.

“This is not about my forgiveness, or lack of it,” Elrond said. “To you, this fiction may be an amusing way to pass the time. But did you consider how others might look upon this prank? What if someone should come upon this and believe I was abusing you? Did you think of that? Did you think of what might happen should word of such reach your father?”

The youth shook his head, his unhappiness plain to see as he was faced with the adult consequences of his foolishness. 

“Would you wish for me to be disgraced for a misunderstanding, or for me to lose the respect I enjoy here? Perhaps the love of your father. Even that?”

“No, Sir,” Thranduil sobbed. “Please believe me! I do not wish any of that!”

Elrond drew in a breath, then let it out deliberately. “Continue to the end,” he ordered, and Thranduil sobbed for a long minute before he could obey the instruction. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand until Elrond sighed in consternation and provided him with a handkerchief.

When at last he was done, Elrond laid the ruler down. “I am not an appropriate choice for your fantasies, Oroperion. I have known you all of your life. I love you, almost as a son.” He paused for a long moment, and remembered seeing the youths playing outside earlier.

“I take much of your time. From now on, you will leave an hour earlier each day and spend time with your friends. Each morning, you will report to me what you did with your free time, and I shall expect to hear that you had fun.”

“Yes, Sir.” Thranduil looked at him wide eyed and startled. “Whatever you wish of me,” he added weakly.

“I am often engaged with the healers at present, learning the finer aspects of their craft. I shall ask one of them to provide you with lessons that relate to desire and intimacy.” At that he was sure Thranduil wished to protest, but he merely agreed, completely deflated now, meek, almost broken.

“If you require a strict timetable to prevent you from misbehaviour, then that is what you will get from me. I promise you will have not five minutes of your own to repeat this... this aberration!” Elrond paused to breathe, realising he had become visibly angry, a thing that hardly ever happened. Thranduil was trembling and pale now, his eyes fixed on the ruler as if he expected Elrond to pick it up again and hit him with it. 

“You will do exactly as I say, Thranduil,” he said at last, calmer.

“Yes, Sir,” Thranduil deferred, gazing at him. There was not a scrap of insolence left in him. Instead, he looked somewhat humbled. Elrond relaxed, seeing that, believing it to be over at last.

“Now, take the pages and throw them on the fire. I do not expect to ever see their like again. Do you understand me, Thranduil?”

“Yes, Sir,” he said, and trailed sadly to the fireplace, feeding the parchment to it sheet by sheet. His shoulders shook as he began to cry in earnest. Elrond felt his heart constrict in empathy, but he could not have done this any other way. Not without sending Thranduil away for good, and he had become used to having Oropher's boy around. Elrond found his studies went easier when he could glance up and see Thranduil there, sitting across from him. He knew it was an indulgence, but if he could stub out this adolescent silliness, then he could continue to teach.

“I would comfort you as I once did,” he said out loud. “But I think you have outgrown that.” He remembered all the times he had cuddled Thranduil as a child, growing up. Soothing him as a baby. Thranduil on his knee while he cried about a grazed knee or a nightmare. Those times were short, and they were over. 

Elrond stood up. “Come here to me,” he said, and Thranduil came to stand before him, looking down at the floor. He could not be sent home with tears drying on his face and his body racked with wild heaving sobs. Elrond wrapped arms around him, and Thranduil cried against his shoulder, shaking, repeating his apologies over and over.

“Shh...” Elrond soothed, one hand behind the boy's head. “It is over now. Do not do it again and everything will be all right.” He patted Thranduil's shoulder with his other hand. That and his words seemed to do the trick, and the boy became quiet, his shuddering eased and he was warm in Elrond's arms. At that point, he let the youth go.

“Sit quietly for a few minutes. I will send a servant to fetch a glass of milk.” So saying, he led Thranduil back to his seat, surprised at the youth's easy compliance. Suddenly he was very obedient, but then he had been very upset too.

Elrond watched over Oropher's son as he drank the milk. At length the boy looked up from his desk. 

“May I go, Pengolodh?” he asked. Elrond considered. His eyes had lost the red puffy look, and he seemed quite composed. 

“You may,” he replied with a curt nod, then returned to his own work. He was hardly aware of Thranduil coming to stand by his desk until he spoke.

“Thank you for the lesson you have given me today,” he said, quiet and subdued. It was a piece of politeness that Elrond had taught him, and he hadn't been expecting it this time. Thranduil placed something before him, then turned and fled, the door opening and shutting quickly, leaving Elrond staring at the red, shiny apple Thranduil had left upon his desk.

 

~ finis ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment!


	4. Crushed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** Well, the muses clearly liked this suggestion, because today I just sat down and wrote it. I don't know when you will next happen by, lunarlumina, but when you do, I hope you enjoy this! 
> 
> So, for those who don't know, this is a request, written for lunarlumina in the comments below, who wanted to see that sword fight from Thranduil's pov, where he lost to Elrond on purpose. Poor Thranduil. To make it up to him, next I shall be adding another chapter from Thranduil's pov, where he finally manages to get Elrond to surrender to him at the Battle of Dagorlad.
> 
> Just a warning. Thranduil is about fifteen here in human terms. Please skip if that offends you, though Elrond does not reciprocate in any way whatsover.
> 
> For now, I hope you all enjoy this.

Crushed

As he readied himself for his lesson in a small hut beside the training field, Thranduil was alone. It smelled of wood and old sweat in here, and he wrinkled his nose in displeasure as he checked over his preparations.

He took the time to make certain none of his clothing was loose, and that his hair would not get in his way. These were things Elrond insisted on, though when he practised alone, he would often leave his hair long and flowing. The way it drifted around him following his movements seemed to aid his instincts on timing and precision.

For now, it would not do. If he appeared on the field with loose hair, Elrond would just send him back to braid it, or perhaps cancel the lesson altogether as punishment. Thranduil scowled at that thought. He would not give his teacher any reason to cancel. Punishment, well that was a different thing altogether... he smiled secretly, imagining that exasperated look Elrond wore so well. It was a dangerous game, though. Sometimes, the punishments he earned were very harsh, and though Elrond never hurt him, he would sometimes make Thranduil cry. 

Dismissing his thoughts, he drew in a deep breath as he buckled his sword to his hip. He, Thranduil, was good at this. Sometimes he even won. He did not bear a training sword like the other students. When his aptitude was noted, his father and Elrond had a sword made for him, weighted to his hand. He allowed himself to caress the hilt of it with his right palm. Now, then. He made sure he stood as tall as possible and walked out into the arena to face his teacher.

Not for him, sparring half-heartedly with other students whose minds were on books or some other silliness. He was special, singled out among all the youths in Lindon. Elrond taught no others, though he knew plenty were jealous of him. Thranduil smirked. They would be less so if they knew how many long days he had to spend quietly in Elrond's study for these moments. Often, Elrond would discuss lessons with him, and that enthused Thranduil, but the dull copying and essay writing? He could live without that.

They practised like this twice a week, and they were like islands of pleasure in Thranduil's existence. Today, it would be even better. Often, the other students would gather to watch. Not him, he didn't fool himself, though he suspected some of the weapon's masters might. They always seemed to have studied him when he saw them, and would compliment him or offer him some piece of advice to apply to his method. The youths in the audience would gather to watch Elrond fight. Probably, they were wishing to be in Thranduil's place.

But today. No one would watch them today. Gil-galad was giving a demonstration with his spear at the other end of the training ground, and quiet swells of oohs and ahhs came from over there. He and Elrond would fight today unobserved. 

It was slightly overcast, which made for good light. Neither of them would be blinded by the sun shining on a blade or a piece of armour. Thranduil breathed in again. The grass was freshly cut, and it had rained during the night. He could smell the damp earth, slightly springy beneath his feet. That was good too. It would lend his movements grace.

Elrond awaited him, stood alone in the centre of the arena, his eyes closed as he too readied himself for the fight. Thranduil watched him for a moment, not announcing his presence. He too had braided his hair away from his face, and Thranduil was regretful of it, imagined how that dark hair would look flowing freely over Elrond's armoured shoulders.

If the only Elrond he saw was the one who seemed willing to drown in books and scrolls, Thranduil might never believe this version existed. He was strong and tall, even fearsome. He gulped as he let his gaze rove freely over his teacher's physique. Then licked his lips. He brought to mind the few times Elrond touched him. As he grew, becoming aware of his desire, Elrond touched him less and less the more he wanted it. He longed now to be younger everyday, as if that would bring back the version of his teacher who was not averse to handling him. 

As he watched, Elrond drew his sword – eyes still closed – bringing it up to his face, the tip of the blade almost touching the sky. Thranduil was entranced, and hopelessly smitten. He knew it, and he could not help it. 

_He is your father's lover_ , his mind told him, but even that did not cool his lust or his love. His body seemed to know Elrond, and he could not convince it otherwise. Actually, the thought that his father knew what it felt like to have Elrond's attention in that way only made it worse. Surely there was something of his father in him? Couldn't he make that work to his advantage somehow? Make Elrond want him too?

Thranduil could not help imagining it as he was stood there, stock still, together in the darkness of his room, Elrond's body hard, warm and naked, sliding against his, covering him, as stern there as he was in the classroom. 

“You will give me everything I wish, Oropherion,” Elrond whispered, ever the implacable teacher. Thranduil swallowed as his mind furnished the vision.

“Oropherion!” Elrond said sharply, and Thranduil shook himself from the daydream, disconcerted.

“Yes, Sir!” he said automatically, without having to think, blinking quickly, finding himself in the arena facing Elrond with his concentration ruined. He sighed helplessly.

“Do you mean to daydream or to fight?” Elrond asked quickly, motioning Thranduil to his place with the tip of his sword. Thranduil hurried there, remembering what they were here for. He drew his sword slowly, his eyes on Elrond all the while.

“I mean to fight,” he said, lifting his head defiantly. Then he smiled. “Sir.”

Although Elrond clearly had the advantage before they began, he was sporting and didn't press it, allowing them to circle each other a couple of times before the fight began in earnest. Thranduil was grateful, using the time to settle his mind and control his breathing. Even Thranduil himself did not realise the full extent of his great talent, and it didn't take long at all for him to be ready. When he was, he did not wait for Elrond to attack, he began as he meant to continue – aggressively.

Everything in Thranduil's mind narrowed to what was between them. To the defensive movements Elrond made, and how they could be turned further to his own advantage. The sound of their swords was as of music to Thranduil, and often when he was observing others, he could tell the movement and direction of a spar, just by the sound, something Elrond had tested him on, unable to hide his incredulity.

Now, as always, he sensed his teacher was holding back, and yet he did not allow it to anger him. Thranduil merely sequenced his attacks until Elrond must fight back or be beaten. Then Elrond began, taking advantage of any gap in Thranduil's technique, so that it became something of a challenge at last. 

Now he enjoyed it! Of course Elrond was still slightly taller, and stronger. He was an adult, while Thranduil was only nearly so, but he found if he tried, and he concentrated, he could compensate for that with his speed and execution. The intensity increased, the danger with it, and Thranduil heard his own heartbeat in his ears, urging him on, giving him his timing in clearly defined measurements.

Now Elrond did not wear that exasperated look. It was deadly concentration in him now, combined with awareness. Thranduil always felt powerful at these times. Their swords clashed, and only Elrond's greater strength saved him from a loss as he pushed Thranduil back. They swung their swords down and out at the same time, both of them fading back just far enough. Thranduil grinned, and so did Elrond. 

No longer were they teacher and student. Now they were Thranduil and Elrond, and these were the times Thranduil loved best. He did not lose his place. To do so would be to lose the subtly altered relationship between them, that only existed in these moments. Under his clothing, he was half-aroused, but it was not sexual. It was because this was dangerous and thrilling. Elrond was not playing with him – he was trying to win. 

Thranduil marked it in him, that determination, but denied him the advantage again and again. They were evenly matched, and Thranduil realised for the first time that when he was fully grown, Elrond might never win against him again. Startled at the thought, he parried a lunge as he looked into Elrond's eyes, and saw that he knew it too. 

Instead of taking advantage of Elrond for overextending himself as he should, forcing him back, Thranduil retreated, almost stumbling. Elrond followed swiftly, still immersed in the fight, his gaze intense and frightening, his sword moving fast as Thranduil deflected thrust after thrust, eventually finding his sword flung away from his grip and onto the ground. 

Before he could even realise he had lost the fight, Elrond grasped a handful of his tunic, pulling him close, Elrond's sword edge on his throat. The length of their bodies was pressed close together, Thranduil's hands clinging to Elrond's shoulders.

“You are dead,” he said shortly, his eyes still burning with desire and victory. He was so beautiful and breathtaking. “The enemy will show you no mercy.” 

For a long moment, nothing changed. Elrond held him there, still, and Thranduil saw how close Elrond's lips were to his own, and he was prevented from it by Elrond's sword at his throat. He wanted to beg, or plead, or something. His body reacted for him, becoming hard now in desire. His breathing slowed and he felt light-headed and heavy at the same time, just as when he had stolen a half-bottle of his father's wine.

At last, something changed in Elrond's eyes as they stared at each other. They cleared, and then widened in recognition. Elrond let him go so suddenly Thranduil lost his balance and fell to the ground on his knees, his body protesting at the lack of contact. 

He was on his knees in front of his teacher. Thranduil began to shake his head to gain some clarity, but then Elrond spoke, making him look up.

“Our time together is over,” he said, his voice cool. Elrond sheathed his sword. Over? Thranduil did not understand. “There will be no more lessons,” he continued. “You should report for weapons training with the others from now on.” No! He enjoyed these fights! Thranduil could not even comprehend it. He opened his mouth to protest, to apologise, whatever he needed to do. He must have this! 

“Do not come to my study any longer. Seek out your knowledge in the library. I have taught you all I can.”

Thranduil only stared up at Elrond as he felt his heart thud painfully in his chest. Over... the word repeated in his mind again and again. He could not mean it! 

“No,” Thranduil said, not knowing what to do to make Elrond relent. Did he ever? “No, please! I will do whatever you ask. I am sorry. We will start again and I will do better. I did not mean to displease you!” 

What had he done? What did he do wrong? Thranduil could not see it, and he panicked, becoming enraged and upset in equal measure because he could not articulate the feelings that were coursing through him. Not in any adult way. Not in any way that Elrond would understand. He knew it, and he hated it, and he knew he sounded like a child as he cried and begged for mercy. 

“Please don't, Pengolodh,” he sobbed, feeling something in his fëa hurt as well as his heart. “Do not send me away from you. Punish me instead if you must.”

Above him, Elrond sighed. “And what would I punish you for this time, Thranduil?” he asked. 

“I don't know! Whatever I did. Anything you want,” he cried in misery. “Just give me that instead. I will not complain, I swear it! I will submit to anything you devise!”

He sobbed at Elrond's feet until he felt hands under his arms encouraging him to his feet. Then he was in Elrond's embrace, and he cried like a child, more and more angry with himself for it as Elrond held him. 

“Why do you hate me?” he asked, his breathing all off kilter so that his head felt bigger than the rest of him. Elrond held him close, arms wrapped around him.

“I do not hate you, pen neth. You know that is silliness,” he said, not quite stern. Thranduil moved his arms forward over Elrond's shoulders, then found his lips were close to Elrond's neck, and his body trembled with sobs and sudden helpless desire.

“But you do not like me,” he moaned, and then dared to kiss, only to find himself held at arm's length hastily. His heart felt like it was breaking as he sobbed again. It was as if the whole world had gone dark.

Elrond sighed. “Of course I like you. Do you see me teaching any other youth in the whole of Lindon?” Thranduil shook his head slowly. “Now will you stop crying?”

“I can't... You don't want me any more...” Thranduil looked at him and sniffled in misery. 

Elrond looked very troubled. “Thranduil,” he said, as if in apology. “I have never wanted you that way. I cannot. My heart forbids it.” He pulled Thranduil close again, as if uncertain what to do, and now that made it worse. Thranduil shook his head and pressed his palms against Elrond's chest, trying to escape, but Elrond would not let him go. 

“Stop! Stop that!” Immediately he gave in, and allowed Elrond to hold him, shushing him. “It is just a passing whim, this, Thranduil. It will pass, I promise you.” 

“It isn't,” he argued sadly. “It is for all time.” Tears ran down his face and dampened the hard leather armour that covered Elrond's heart. 

“Don't cry,” Elrond said softly, almost crooning, ignoring his words. Thranduil quietened a fraction, having an idea.

“If I do will you let me still be with you each day?” he asked, hopeful. Elrond shook his head, decisive, and Thranduil felt his entire body shake as a new set of sobs began in him.

“Come with me,” Elrond said with some sorrow, one arm around him as they walked from the field. Thranduil's legs felt shaky, and Elrond let him lean against his greater strength. “I will take you to your father.”

 

~ finis ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Well... it's a little bit of a snapshot. Hope you enjoyed. Please feed my Thranduil muse and leave a comment on your way out! :)


	5. Thranduil at Dagorlad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** As the title implies, part of the events at Daglorlad told from Thranduil's point of view.

Thranduil at Dagorlad

When he returned from the fighting, he was already aware of the news. One of the Captains told him, pulling him aside and giving it to him in a whisper, as if afraid of his reaction, but Thranduil had known for many years as much as Oropher knew. He simply bowed his head in acknowledgement, and sighed, then gave the Captain instructions for settling their camp that would usually have come from his father. Perhaps the elf thought his reaction calm, but he did not say. He seemed more relieved to find Thranduil capable, and hurried about his tasks.

Though he knew where his father lay, Thranduil did not go there straight away. Instead he went to his own tent and went through the ritual of cleansing himself of all the muck and grime of the battle. He took his time, using this space to remember his father. Thranduil would attend his body, but in state. He would not show disrespect by showing up filthy and overwrought. Nimbrethil had told him he must not fall, and he would not.

After he had cleaned himself, he sat on the side of his bed and cleaned off his boots too. He was a member of the army, and he did what he would expect of those who followed him. There was no polish, but he buffed them with a dry cloth, and that was enough to bring back some shine. At last there was nothing else to do. Thranduil drew in a deep breath and stood up, leaving his tent to seek out his father and King.

When he entered the tent where his father lay, he was confronted with something he did not expect. Elrond was here, holding his father's hand and sobbing. Clearly he did not know he was observed. Thranduil regarded him, sorry for what he had lost too. Elrond and his father; they had been lovers for many centuries, since long before he was even born. 

Thranduil walked to stand beside Elrond and looked at his father. A tight sudden pain flared in his heart, but he was expecting it. He had confronted this very image so many times in his own imagination the reality lost some of its power over him. Nimbrethil had helped him with that too. But Elrond... Thranduil looked down upon him. He had no knowledge that this would happen, and Thranduil's heart constricted again, and this time he could not will it away.

For an instant he looked back at his father. You should have confided in him, Thranduil thought. But it was too late now. It had not been his place to tell Elrond anything, even though his former teacher had questioned him, confided in him. In the end, Thranduil hadn't even told his own father what he knew. To do that would be to admit to prying, and his father would simply have hidden his knowledge elsewhere. It would have caused him pain to know his secrets were found out. Thranduil did not hold any resentment towards his father. 

He sensed it when Elrond looked up at him, and switched his gaze to look. He was sat back on his heels, holding the King's hand. As Thranduil watched, Elrond drew in a shuddering breath and tried to wipe away his tears, but only managed to smear the dirt on his face. He was fresh from the battle. 

Gently, he took his father's hand from Elrond and laid it respectfully by the side of his body once more, then turned and faced his old teacher. Elrond was on his knees at Thranduil's feet.

“The battle will continue, peredhel,” he said, knowing it was true, wishing he could ease the anguish in Elrond's heart, but that part of Elrond had always been closed to him. “Let his death make you wrathful and hungry for it,” he urged. “Let it make you require to kill his murderers. The time for grief will come when it is all over and we stand victorious.”

To his surprise, Elrond laughed harshly at his words, but there was no humour in it. He saw tears again in Elrond's eyes, threatening to spill over. “I cannot,” Elrond said, his voice almost breaking. “I don’t want to be here without him.”

Thranduil found himself at a loss, though he did not allow that to show in his face. What could he say to ease this? For Elrond must snap out of it – and soon. They had a matter of hours before they must go out and engage the enemy again, and here Elrond was, falling apart right in front of him. He remembered his own quiet reaction, how he had in one moment accepted the responsibility his father's death conferred upon him.

Yes, this was Elrond. Duty would work on him far better than any other inducement. 

“Lord Elrond,” Thranduil began formally, feeling himself frown. “You are needed. You cannot simply give in to this. What is expected of me is also expected of you. Do not let them down.”

Then, to Thranduil's dismay, Elrond merely looked up at him and shook his head. “I don’t care,” he said. “They are not us.”

Thranduil kept his face carefully expressionless, hiding his shock. He remembered then the relief in the Captain earlier when he had issued calm instructions. “I see,” he said thoughtfully, as Elrond gazed at his father's body. “You need a leader too.” If Elrond needed commands to get through this, then Thranduil would give them to him. Elrond might resist, but he was extremely vulnerable, and Thranduil was used to being obeyed. Between the two of them, he liked his chances rather better.

“What do you mean?” Elrond asked, his voice weary, and Thranduil silently prayed, apologising to all the Valar he knew for what he was about to do to the son of Eärendil and the great, great grandson of Melian the Maiar.

“Kiss my feet,” he ordered. “Promise me your allegiance.”

Elrond's eyes became sharp, and Thranduil felt his piercing intelligent regard like a touch. For a moment it really was his teacher knelt there at his feet, yet Thranduil did not relent, and did not look away. “I will not!” Elrond said, shaking his head, his lips twisted in displeasure at the demand.

Thranduil waited, seeing the look in Elrond's eyes change from derision, to shock, and then finally something softer. Yes, it was there; something in Elrond was almost willing. Thranduil sighed inwardly.

“Oh, yes, you will,” Thranduil said then, leaning over to press his hand on the back of Elrond's head, urging him down. “Because I demand it.”

In the end it took hardly any encouragement at all. “You... demand...” Elrond echoed, sounding quite lost. Thranduil sighed silently, keeping his hand pressed there as Elrond struggled, then eventually gave in, lips pressed to Thranduil's boot. Thranduil truly was sorry. He did not believe Elrond had ever been made to submit like this to anyone, not even Gil-galad, and now was not the time to begin, but it was all he could think of.

“Give me your allegiance,” he repeated, his voice purposefully calm, knowing Elrond would lend that little bit of peace from him. That he needed it.

“I…” Elrond began, and Thranduil saw his lips move away from his boot to give the assurance. “I vow to serve you,” he whispered quietly, “my King.”

That was enough. It was more than enough. Still leaning over, Thranduil pulled Elrond to his feet so that they faced each other. For a moment they looked into each other's eyes, and Thranduil could see that new submission, so tender, like a budding leaf; it needed just a little attention to grow. It could be used to seduce him. It could also be used to rescue him, if Thranduil had the courage.

“Thranduil,” Elrond began.

“Quiet.” Thranduil said, and there it was again. The Lord of Imladris lowered his gaze and closed his eyes, becoming silent. Thranduil did not miss the meaning of that reaction, nor did he forget that it was Elrond he held in his arms, that it was Elrond who showed such a promise to him. Thranduil could think of nothing else for a moment. So many centuries of wanting, of desiring, of wishing. Of watching the love Elrond gave so freely to his father, and never to him.

“And so you are,” he said wonderingly. Elrond looked up again, this time in alarm and understanding, and he had not changed at all. He was as beautiful as when Thranduil had been helplessly besotted and foolish. He had been so young. It would have been so easy to take advantage, but Elrond had not done it. Elrond was the better of them both, Thranduil knew that, because when the same temptation was put before him, here and now, he couldn't help himself...

Thranduil pulled Elrond close for the kiss, holding him tightly as if he might disappear. He knew that Elrond struggled, but it was only half-hearted. If Elrond truly wished to escape, Thranduil would not be able to kiss him like this. He wondered if, after all this time, finally tasting Elrond's lips would be a pale comparison to his fantasies, but it was not. Thranduil could not be more exalted if someone burst in then to say they had already won the war. Elrond at last! It was perfect, even the way Elrond unconsciously begged to be subdued excited him. 

Too soon he pulled away, resting his forehead against Elrond's, and then became aware of where they were, his eyes flickering to his father. “Come, Peredhil. We will continue this someplace else,” he said, taking Elrond's hand, his pulse racing, already imagining all the things he might do now. All the things he might have.

“Continue?” Elrond repeated, clearly stunned and still very upset. “No! This is madness! At least I have shown my grief. Please, Thranduil…” Elrond appeared to want some proof of Thranduil's pain, and he could not give it. Weakness could not be tolerated. But he saw Elrond's sorrow very well. Soon, perhaps, he would soothe that pain. At least for a short while.

“Majesty,” Thranduil reminded Elrond deliberately, narrowing his eyes. Elrond shook his head and pulled his hand back, stepping out of the way. For a moment, Thranduil regarded Oropher's body, and as he moved to stand behind Elrond, he could not escape the impression that Elrond had been passed to him, along with the title of King. He imagined himself as the keeper of Elrond's heart, the recipient of a love so rarely bestowed, and he could not help desiring it. Even if he had to keep Elrond in chains... Thranduil had a sudden vision of that, of taking Elrond back to his home as a captive – the spoils of war – and he knew that if he could, he would do that too. 

“Not like this,” Elrond muttered, breaking into his thoughts. “I can’t help you like this…” 

Thranduil only laughed. “You misunderstand, Peredhil,” he said slowly, hoping Elrond did not hear his dark intent. “I can help you.” He thought about that, and then felt a rush of desire when he realised how much he would enjoy it. “Or rather,” he amended, “we can help each other.”

“Help me,” Elrond repeated, almost as if it were a plea. Thranduil felt his heart clench inside him as Elrond turned to look at Oropher again. All those centuries. Elrond had given much of himself to Oropher. As far as Thranduil knew, he had never taken another lover, and he felt a sudden need to protect Elrond, to save him from his grief before it could consume him and leave him helpless before the enemy. That was no fate for Eärendilion, and he would not allow it.

“Yes,” Thranduil said gently, coaxing. “Come with me, away from here. Just a little way. You can come back in a while.”

Elrond sniffled. Clearly, he knew it was an untruth given in kindness. “You can do nothing here, Peredhil,” Thranduil reminded him in sympathy, and at that Elrond allowed Thranduil to lead him away, giving in, leaning on him as if he had no strength left. Every bit of surrender he gave was a testament to his grief, and Thranduil could not help feeling for him.

They did not encounter anyone on the short journey to his own tent, and for that Thranduil was glad and grateful. For Elrond's sake, he did not want rumours circulating that he was broken by this. When they entered, Elrond glanced around until his eyes settled on the water for washing.

“You are welcome,” Thranduil told him, gesturing to it and letting him go. He'd picked up Elrond's sword belt, and put it somewhere safe for now along with his own. All too soon they would be needed again. When he turned back, Elrond was sitting on the side of his bed. He had not washed himself, but sat there hunched over, arms wrapped around himself. That would not do at all. Thranduil frowned.

He searched around for some kind of tonic. The Dorwinion he favoured would not do, as it would likely remind Elrond of Oropher, but he had a little of Imladris' own Miruvor, given to him by Glorfindel. Thranduil poured a tiny dram of it into a tarred leather cup and made his way back to the bed.

“Elrond?” he said softly, sitting beside him. There was no response to his name. “Take this,” Thranduil said patiently, holding the cup in front of him until Elrond reached out to take it from his hands. He drank the strong spirit swiftly, knocking it back in one. Thranduil took the cup away from him. It was a start, at least.

As Thranduil turned back to look at him, Elrond shivered, and when he looked at Thranduil, there was a terrible naked fear in his eyes. 

“I am going to die,” he said simply, and then as if to illustrate he unfolded his arms and held out his shaking hands to Thranduil. “I cannot fight,” he said, as if pleading for Thranduil to do something about it.

Thranduil was not a great healer, but after his centuries with Nimbrethil, he was a very accomplished Master. There was only one thing he could do to ease Elrond, and he was quite sure his old teacher was not going to like it at all, despite the promise of submission he showed earlier.

“Really?” Thranduil asked, as if it did not matter. Elrond looked at him again searchingly. Thranduil began to remove his tunic, watching Elrond all the while.

“I am sorry… I know I have to go,” Elrond said quietly, his eyes dropping to his feet. Is that what he thought? It was time to begin correcting him, then.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Thranduil informed him simply, watching as Elrond's eyes flickered to his bare chest, then to the bed, then down at himself.

“That is ridiculous,” Elrond said, betraying his thoughts, as if he spoke to himself. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“No, you aren’t,” Thranduil said in the same tone. Elrond would not leave this tent unless it was with him, and that would be much, much later. He allowed his gaze to roam over Elrond slowly. He made to get up, and Thranduil laid a hand on his shoulder, preventing him. “But you will be soon.”

Slowly, he began to unbuckle the clasps that held Elrond's armour to him, turning Elrond's hands away patiently when he sought to protest. Nor did he listen to Elrond's pleas to stop, removing each piece until he came to the last, the part that covered Elrond's chest.

“Don't,” Elrond begged, one hand on his heart to hold the armour in place, looking into Thranduil's eyes. His eyes held a different message, and Thranduil took the chest plate away from him, Elrond's hand falling to rest in his lap.

When it was done, Thranduil stalked over to the tent entrance, calling over an elf to fetch clean clothes for the Lord of Imladris, and fresh water. He waited until it arrived, tapping his foot, impatient, occasionally checking on Elrond but he did not move. He continued just sitting there, hugging himself, rocking slightly. 

When at last everything was as he wanted it, and they were alone again, Thranduil stood before Elrond and felt full of purpose. It was time to begin, and if Elrond would not care for himself, then he, Thranduil, the King of Eryn Galen, would do it for him. 

“Stand,” he commanded. Elrond looked around him, and then up at him, shivering. He did not move.

“Stand up,” Thranduil repeated, tilting his head.

“Thranduil,” Elrond said, sighing, still not making any move to obey.

“Did you vow to serve me as your King?” Thranduil asked directly. He watched for a moment as Elrond thought about it. “Did you not say: 'I vow to serve you, my King?'” he pursued, his voice even colder and more regal. 

Elrond made a sound then. It was fear and grief and helplessness rolled into one. “Yes,” he whispered at last, admitting to it. 

“Then obey me,” Thranduil demanded, “and stand up.”

Slowly, as if it were a dream, Elrond stood up, though his arms were still folded. Thranduil dropped down to kneel at his feet and remove Elrond's boots. When he had done with that, he stood to find Elrond staring blankly at the water. With a little encouragement, Elrond lifted his arms in silence for Thranduil to remove his tunic. 

Though he kept his movements slow and measured, Thranduil's mind and heart were a whirl as he undressed his former teacher. Every part of him was being exposed under Thranduil's hands, ready for his touch, though Elrond did not yet know it. He was like a lifeless doll in Thranduil's thrall. He unlaced Elrond's breeches, then slipped his fingers beneath the waistband to push them down past his hips, barely daring to breathe for fear of breaking the spell and sending Elrond running before he could accomplish his goal. 

His goal. He tried to remember what that goal was as Elrond stepped out of the breeches, completely naked now. He was all that Thranduil had imagined and more. Elrond was still mostly unresponsive, and so Thranduil took the opportunity to look him over slowly, indulging himself, wishing to emblazon this sight in his mind forever: Elrond naked before him at his command, awaiting his further instruction. It was more than he'd ever dared to dream.

His chest rose and fell as he breathed, drawing Thranduil's attention to his pectoral muscles, adorned with perfect dusky nipples. Thranduil's fingers twitched, as if he would touch Elrond there and make him respond at last. He imagined how Elrond would gasp if he was a little cruel, the helpless look in his eyes as he stood and allowed it. Swallowing, Thranduil's eyes moved down over his flat stomach, his soft cock nestled in short dark hair, his long legs, so defined by muscle. He was a vision. 

Thranduil knew he was slightly aroused, just from looking, but that would not do for this and he willed it to abate as he gently took Elrond's hands, pulling him to stand on the grass mat in front of the water. Yet for all his efforts, Thranduil still felt like he was in some erotic dream of old as he soaked a cloth and wrung it out; the droplets of water seemed to fall in slow motion before he turned and used the wet cloth to begin his task, starting on Elrond's left shoulder.

Elrond gasped at the chill of the water against his skin, but did not speak or move, giving implicit consent for Thranduil to continue. He took as much time as he dared, using the cloth to touch as he wished he could with his hands, as if he was laying claim to every patch of luminous skin. As the dirt and grime were wiped away, Elrond only became more beautiful to Thranduil, revealed in his perfection. 

Thranduil left Elrond's face until the end, wiping away the blood and dirt with tender care as he looked into the other elf's eyes. Suddenly, Elrond grabbed his wrist, but not to forbid him.

“Thank you,” Elrond said, and he sounded more lost than ever. Thranduil smiled slightly. He would save Elrond, and enjoy it – every moment. Elrond let go of his wrist and closed his eyes, tilting his head back in glorious acceptance as Thranduil finished cleansing his face and neck. It took all the self-restraint Thranduil possessed not to claim him right there and then.

Thranduil did not waste time with Elrond's hair, but dried him down quickly, briskly, so as to leave some warmth in him. Elrond submitted to that too, and then Thranduil turned him to the water to wash his hands. For the first time then Elrond resisted as Thranduil tried to dip his hands in the water.

“No!” Elrond said loudly, pulling his hands back with all of his strength, though he did not back away.

“Wash your hands,” Thranduil ordered, surprised that it had taken this long for Elrond to protest. His former teacher looked into his eyes as if entranced, and Thranduil took the opportunity of his sudden stillness to get his hands into the water. 

Elrond cried out as if the water hurt him in some way while Thranduil moved to stand behind him. Beneath the surface of the water he rubbed his thumbs over Elrond's palms and wrists. All he could think about was the way Elrond fitted into his arms, his body warm and trembling slightly. When he was done, he lifted Elrond's hands and dried them for him without letting him free from the embrace.

“Lie down on the bed,” Thranduil said quietly, and Elrond moved immediately to obey him, lying down and curling up in an expression of pain and loneliness. He sobbed quietly into the pillows as Thranduil searched among his belongings for the things he needed. He wondered how Elrond would react to this, and could only hope the submission he had seen earlier was real. It would need to be for the next hour or two.

Thranduil approached the bed and put the rest of the gathered supplies down beside the bed, retaining the cane. It was the same cane Nimbrethil had used on him before he left. Whenever he felt alone without her he was to look at it and remember that she thought of him. It granted him a strength of sorts, because regarding the cane made him remember her instructions.

Do not fail. Do not fall. Lead your people. Come back to me. 

He and Nimbrethil had been together for many centuries, and they played extensively. He could use the same tactic on Elrond now, and he intended to. Thranduil was no stranger to both sides of the use of discipline. After so long practising, he was sure of himself, and certain that he could pull Elrond back from the brink that he teetered upon. What happened after that would be a thing for later. He would willingly take the consequences, even if Elrond hated him forever, as long as it saved his life now. 

Yet he did not fool himself. He wanted to do this too. Wanted it so much he could almost taste it. Elrond would be so beautiful in submission! Elrond would be his. His heart picked up again at the thought. Even if it was only here, now. Even if it was only that, he would have it.

Elrond was faced away from him and could not know what he intended. Perhaps that was for the best. The shock when he realised would aid Thranduil in this endeavour as much as the pain. He encouraged Elrond to lie on his front, and then began. 

“When this is over, you shall allow Glorfindel to travel back to Imladris alone, and you will come with me.”

As he waited for the inevitable denial, Thranduil's fingers tightened on the cane. He must remember to be gentle. At last Elrond sighed. “No,” he said sadly.

Thranduil let the cane fall on Elrond's buttocks for the first time, so gently it did not even raise a welt, although the mark could be seen. Elrond yelped and turned back onto his side, yet he did not flee. “Wrong answer.”

Thranduil reached for the bindings he had brought and took Elrond's wrists to secure them away from his body, ensuring that he was laid on his front again. And now there was no doubt. Elrond allowed this, whether he knew it or not. He made no protest, and though his muscles tensed, Elrond did not fight the restriction.

Sitting upon the bed again, he repeated himself. Again, Elrond rejected the truth, and again he was punished. Elrond cried out, but Thranduil did not relent, repeating it again and again until Elrond accepted it.

Thranduil described a vision of the future to Elrond, a future in which Oropher was lost, and they took the news back to the Greenwood together. A future that Elrond featured in heavily. He forced Elrond to recite it to him over the course of the next hour, until it was clear he imagined it for himself. 

“Do you think he knew?” Elrond asked then, his voice still full of sorrow that the cane could not alleviate. Thranduil was torn by that question. 

“Undoubtedly,” he replied, and Elrond sobbed. He was so vulnerable and broken. So ready for what Thranduil wished to have above all else. Without saying another word, he lie down behind Elrond and heard him take in a deep breath, as if he had forgotten whose bed he was in.

“Did you think to only take what you needed?” Thranduil asked then, amused, his hand resting on Elrond's waist.

“What I needed?” Elrond echoed, and for all of his years he sounded as innocent as an elfling. Oh, he would enjoy this very much indeed!

“No. That isn’t how it works,” Thranduil informed him with some satisfaction. “Now I will take payment, aníra-nín, and I think I will use your body to give me the warmth and pleasure I miss while I am away from home.”

Suddenly Elrond did fight to be free of the bindings, much too late. Thranduil pressed against his back, loving the sensation of finally having Elrond's naked body next to his. He closed his eyes to properly enjoy it, feeling his cock half-hard already as his arousal came rushing back.

“Please, don't!” Elrond cried out.

“You will learn to surrender, I promise you,” said Thranduil, opening his eyes. “But for now understand that you have no choice. I will take what is due to me.”

“No!” And yet he could do nothing to defend himself from Thranduil's touch, and touch he did, exploring Elrond's skin with sweeping passes of his hands, lingering in places, marvelling at his muscles and the lines of his body. His at last! Thranduil imagined sharing him with Nimbrethil. She would love him too, he was quite certain. Elrond quietened, whimpering and shivering as if in dread.

“Hush! Do not tremble so, Elrond! I will not hurt you, my little green leaf,” Thranduil said with a small smile. Elrond was probably completely unaware of the way he had given in. He was not shouting or screaming. Indeed, now he even ceased to struggle. A part of him was desperate for this claiming, and Thranduil knew it very well.

“Do not call me such,” he said coldly. “I am not inexperienced.”

So there was some life in him after all! Thranduil could feel his face stretching in a grin. He would get what he wanted. “No, you are not,” he agreed. “But I would be willing to wager no one has ever had you bound and helpless like this.” He waited for Elrond to respond, but he was stubborn and silent. “Have they?”

“No…” Elrond said softly, pulling at the bindings so half-heartedly, Thranduil almost laughed. He could not know how every little thing he did only ensured his fate. He was delicious! Wanting, yet not wanting. Thranduil felt his own body aching to claim him and end the contradiction. Make him submit and beg for more. Oh, yes... he would beg so prettily, Thranduil was certain.

“Is that an answer to my question or something else? Because you should know I am not going to ask for your permission, green leaf.”

Elrond only moaned, further proving Thranduil's thoughts correct, and he shivered too, just like a leaf. Thranduil laughed softly as he leaned back a little, reaching for the salve which he had brought to the bed with him to use as a lubricant. “I think I have found a name for you… Legolas.”

“No,” Elrond said weakly, struggling again before falling still. “I do not like it!”

Behind Elrond, Thranduil covered his hardness and his fingers with the salve before putting the pot aside. “That is precisely why it is perfect for you, green leaf,” he said, smirking. “Do not argue with your King.” 

It was only now Thranduil hesitated, when he was just a breath away from touching Elrond that way, but it must be done. If he let Elrond go now, he would crumble. Forced to kneel and submit, but not to be enjoyed or cherished? If he let Elrond go now, everything he had done would only have made it worse. This part was necessary to ensure his compliance. Thranduil slid his fingers between Elrond's buttocks and over his entrance, and then inside him. Just a little at first, then deeper, until Elrond was taking short quickened breaths. 

“Please, don't,” Elrond whispered, managing to sound almost virginal, and yet Thranduil knew Elrond had lain with his father many, many times. “Don't... No...” he pleaded, and yet he did not fight, or move away. Thranduil deemed it was enough, and he removed his fingers, pressing his erection inside slowly, wanting to savour this moment for eternity. Elrond groaned, and Thranduil went deeper, eyes closed as he concentrated upon how Elrond's body surrounded him, so hot. Thranduil could feel how Elrond stretched around him, tense, and knew he was perfect. 

At last he struggled, too late, and it wasn't long before Thranduil was inside him all the way. Being in him was like paradise. Thranduil felt his stomach muscles quiver in pleasure and sighed, at last satisfied. 

“Well done, green leaf,” he murmured playfully, his hand stroking over Elrond's side, finishing on his hip. “That is the hardest part over with.” As if in a dream, Thranduil pulled back and gave Elrond a gentle thrust forward, marvelling all over again at how it felt as Elrond continued to fight. He could not contain a moan – they were a perfect fit. Elrond was making little sounds of his own, and Thranduil suddenly realised what those sounds were.

“Are you crying, green leaf?” he ask, unbelieving. Elrond sniffled.

“No,” he replied, rebellious, though his voice and his body trembled in Thranduil's arms. Elrond drew in his next breath in a series of hitching little gasps, and his body tightened around Thranduil just for an instant.

“Yes, you are!” Thranduil said. “Oh, green leaf…” he moaned, kissing the back of Elrond’s neck lovingly while he shivered in response. “How beautiful you are! I should have taken this from you a long time ago.”

“Do not say such things!” Elrond managed to gasp as Thranduil took him with pleased fervour. He did not ever want to let this treasure go. 

“When you return with me, you will be mine, Elrond. Is that clear?”

“What do you really want from me?” Elrond demanded.

“I want you to enjoy it, green leaf,” Thranduil ground out between movements. “I want you to admit you want this. I want you to be with me in body and soul because you will only survive if you believe there is something to return to – do you understand?”

As if Thranduil's words had worked, Elrond finally ceased his struggles. “So you think this is the answer?” he asked quietly, as if Thranduil had surprised him. “How do you expect me to react?”

“I expect you to live!” Thranduil almost shouted, wanting his words to sink in. “I expect you to relish the pain and beg me for more. I want you to fight me and lose. I want you to surrender to me wholeheartedly, knowing that when this is over, I will take you to my home as a captive and a plaything.” 

Going quiet, Thranduil pushed deeply again, and this time Elrond moaned wantonly.

“And yes, I want you to enjoy it all,” he said then, relishing the slick tightness around him. 

“Don’t…” Elrond begged, but the timbre of his plea had changed, and Thranduil knew Elrond had heard him, knew his intention at last. He would have it! He would have Elrond's submission long after they had finished here.

“This war is about hope, Elrond, and if you fight without it, you will perish whether the enemy kills you or not,” he confided.

“This is not hope.”

Inwardly, Thranduil cursed his teacher's stubborn nature. “Yes, it is,” he said definitively. “I want you. I want you to be mine. Mine to take and to play with. And I want you to desire it too.”

“But why like this? Why be cruel?” Thranduil did not give the first answer which sprung to his mind, which was that he had already waited for Elrond to come around to him for centuries. If he was not this proactive, this opportunistic, it would never come to pass. Instead he told Elrond what he needed to hear.

“Because it is not in me to be anyone but myself. I am not my father, green leaf, but I will love and cherish your surrender to me as dearly as he loved your serious nature and loyalty.”

Yet as he fucked Elrond, Thranduil's thoughts continued to turn. Elrond had not expressed the slightest interest in him over the centuries. It had hurt him for a long time before he found Nimbrethil. But it occurred to Thranduil that Elrond might really not want this. 

“If you tell me you aren’t seduced by this,” he said regretfully, “I will let you go, because it defeats the purpose.” Thranduil stilled, afraid. Elrond only moaned, giving no other answer, and Thranduil let his hand drift down over that taut, flat stomach, to find Elrond rock hard against his hand. He gripped Elrond's erection, taking that as proof, and his fear evaporated. Elrond did want him!

Thranduil began to move again, still tenderly, for he did not want to abuse this new thing and cause it to die. He heard Elrond sigh in pleasure as he did it, and Thranduil pumped his cock slowly, drawing it out for him.

“Surrender to me, green leaf,” he urged. “Surrender to your King.” As Thranduil kissed the back of his neck, Elrond moaned again, and he pressed back against Thranduil’s body in clear and sudden invitation. Thranduil laughed softly at his victory.

“I surrender,” Elrond said, trembling again.

“I know. Trust me. It will be all right, Elrond.” He did not stop then until the deed was done, and Elrond moaned and pleaded so sweetly Thranduil wished it would last forever, that Elrond would be his after this and love him, just as deeply as he had loved Thranduil's own father. As deeply as Thranduil had wished for it when he was a mere youngster, and Elrond had seemed like all the light and beauty in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it – please leave a word or two.


	6. Galion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** This is a continuation of a chapter I wrote a little while ago with Legolas and Galion. Hope you like:

Galion

_“Do be sure to attend me in the morning. I would have you awaken me with your hot, sweet mouth,” he said, his gaze lingering on those soft red lips. Galion lowered his head and bowed slightly, his hair tumbling around him in unruly loose curls. Legolas found he wanted to bind that hair to make it behave, much like the servant himself. For a moment he imagined having Galion bound to his bed, unable to move. Something for tomorrow, perhaps._

_“Yes, Prince Legolas,” Galion said, meek and obliging as ever. Then he gave Legolas a daring smile of satisfaction and victory, and was gone._

_Legolas flung himself back on the bed and laughed, looking forward to the morning._

Legolas surprised himself awake the next morning with a quiet moan. He made the sound again, just as he became aware that the wet sucking heat on his morning hardness was not the leftover of some erotic dream. He stretched his legs a little, which meant he pressed further into that welcoming mouth. The servant allowed it, his tongue rubbing against Legolas' shaft.

“Galion,” Legolas said, mostly to himself. “Good.” He raised his head a little to look down the bed, and could see the hunched figure of the servant beneath the sheets, pleasuring him as Legolas had commanded the night before. He lifted a hand and rested it on the sheet that covered the back of Galion's head. 

He could let this happen, he thought, amazed at the idea. Woken like this, he could lie back while Galion brought him pleasure, swallowed him. It was a tempting thought indeed, and on its heels were other thoughts. Legolas noticed that Galion had been busy before waking him. A tray awaited with a plate covered by a silver dome. The fire was burning merrily, warming the air in the room, and through the door that led to his private bathroom he could smell sweet scented steam.

Did his father get this same level of service every morning? Suddenly Legolas wondered if Galion would repeat all of this for his father in an hour or two, once Legolas had finished with him. Somehow, that thought made him jerk up into that welcoming mouth in lust. Valar! Why had he waited so long to make use of Galion like this? 

There were muffled sounds coming from beneath the sheet, from behind the gag of his own cock. Legolas smirked. Let him continue. It must be before dawn – Legolas always woke early – and if Galion had been forced to recount his failure to obey the King's command, he would have had a rather late night. He must be exhausted. Somehow, that didn't inspire mercy in Legolas at all.

The sounds disappeared, as they must, because Galion was no inexperienced _ellon_. He knew exactly what he was doing, and Legolas crossed his arms behind his head, happy to let Galion work for a few minutes, in no hurry to come too soon. 

At last, Legolas took a break from his leisurely writhing and moaning to peer under the sheet, and saw Galion at work, his lips stretched, his cheeks hollow. With an indrawn hiss of breath, Legolas grasped at his shoulders to make him stop and all but pulled him up the bed. For a moment or two, Legolas let Galion rest on him, his bodyweight was so slight it was barely there. Galion caught his breath, those trembling red wet lips pressed against Legolas' shoulder.

Feeling charitable, Legolas stroked down over the side of Galion's body with one hand – soothing. 

“Are you prepared?” he asked, and neither of them could doubt what he meant. Galion nodded in silence. “Ride me,” Legolas commanded, and then let Galion go to get into position, which he did with gratifying speed.

Galion straddled him, one hand reaching behind to hold Legolas' erection in place, and then he sank down slowly as Legolas groaned with his eyes closed, feeling himself encased in the other elf's body once more. The sound Galion made was slightly different; he drew in an endless breath mixed with a whimper. Legolas opened his eyes to watch.

The servant had his head thrown back, exposing the pale column of his neck in the firelight. His body was perfect, androgynous, except for the hard cock that pointed straight up in front where his pelvis tilted forward. It was darker than the rest of him, much darker, almost obscene. Legolas moved his hands forward, tickling his fingertips beneath Galion's buttocks, and found he could control him that way. Just the press of his fingertips and Galion moved to obey him, lifting up and then sinking back down, his moans deep and helpless with surrender. 

“Touch yourself,” Legolas suggested, thrilled when Galion did just that, one hand caressing his cock while his body squeezed and moved on Legolas, letting him so deep that Legolas knew Galion must feel completely possessed. He began giving him little jolts of his hips as a reminder when their connection was at the deepest, until Galion was making deep grunts of awareness. 

“Look at me,” Legolas said. “See who possesses you.”

His head came up slowly, his hair flowing loose and wild around him, the length of it brushing against Legolas' forearms. His grey eyes gleamed like mithril in the firelight, his pupils dark and expanded. Just like the rest of him, his features were delicate. Legolas admired him, from the tender points of his ears and the exquisite arch of his eyebrows, to the small nose and fine jawline. He found himself staring at the skin below Galion's ear, and surged up into a sitting position to nuzzle him there, arms closing around his slender frame as he fell back helplessly; Legolas' sudden move had made him lose his balance.

“Lovely...” Legolas said while Galion's legs wrapped around him, inhaling the scent of him, brushing his lips over that spot again and again. His skin was soft as the finest velvet. His lips drifted slightly lower, and he nipped at Galion's throat with his teeth. All of the servant's bodyweight was resting back on his arms, his fine-boned hands on Legolas' shoulders, squeezing urgently while his body tightened.

“Prince Legolas, please! Don't mark me!” Legolas only laughed, his voice low and deep.

“Oh, but you like to be in trouble, do you not?” he murmured, and Galion trembled in his arms, inviting all of this. “Tell me that you like to be in trouble,” he ordered devilishly. “Tell me that, and maybe I will let you go this time.”

“I like to be –” Galion began, obedient to a fault, and then Legolas bit hard. The servant's entire body seized pleasantly, so that Legolas held him tighter, almost crushing him. He could feel the hard length of Galion pressed against his belly. “Oh, not this! You don't know what he will do!”

“What will he do?” Legolas asked, curious, licking over the mark he had made. Even in the firelight it looked spectacular. “Or, better still,” he said. “Tell me how long you have wished for this. To serve me as well as my father.”

“Many centuries, Prince Legolas,” Galion admitted. “You are both very beautiful to me.”

“Pretty words,” said Legolas, and drew Galion away a little so he could thrust inside him again. “Is it Thranduil and Legolas you desire or the King and the Prince?” 

Something in Galion's eyes cleared suddenly. “Oh, Legolas,” he said in reproach. “Is it me you want or the slave?” He laughed strangely. “Tell me truly, when I woke you, did you think of me, or the service I provide?”

Legolas blushed, remembering, entirely caught out. “You are not my slave,” he vowed, uncomfortable now. Then the moment was over. The clear look in Galion's eyes fled and he stretched in Legolas' arms, his lips curved upwards, there was no doubt. 

“Let me,” he moaned, “let me be your slave, Prince Legolas!” This was different now, and Legolas laughed a little. It was a game, that is all, and he relaxed. If it was a game Galion wanted, he had come to the right place. 

Withdrawing temporarily, Legolas guided Galion to lie on his back, and then hold his own ankles. It left him spread wide open, and Legolas kept him steady, hooking hands around his thighs as he eased back inside. From this angle, Legolas could watch as Galion's body stretched to accommodate him, the flesh around him a dark and ruddy pink. 

Legolas set a steady pace, watching avidly as he moved in and out, making sure that Galion felt every single inch. He was moaning and shaking, and Legolas looked up briefly. 

“My slave,” he said, never ceasing in his movements.

“Yes! Yours!” Galion cried out, his eyes shining with moisture that dampened his eyelashes.

At the sight of those tears, Legolas gave in, and thrust hard and fast until he felt himself let go, spilling deep inside Galion. The servant was still hard, and Legolas wrapped a hand around him. 

“Will you behave for me or for him? Your choice,” Legolas said with a wicked grin. Galion groaned. 

“After the night I had? I obey him,” Galion said breathlessly, although his body moved into Legolas' touch. Legolas laughed lightly and let him go. Their time wasn't over yet, and Legolas was covered in sweat. He jumped up lightly and pulled on Galion's hand. 

“Come bathe with me,” Legolas said, happy, and Galion actually giggled.

“Told you,” he said as he allowed Legolas to lead him. “You can't keep up the act.”

Legolas stopped dead, and Galion ran into him. He hardly felt it. Turning, he looked down from his own height and calculated. Then he grinned. Galion's smile faltered, and he backed away a step, though Legolas still had tight hold of his hand so he didn't get very far.

Suddenly, Legolas dipped down and picked Galion up like an _elleth_ to carry him into the bathroom. He wasn't a child, and he wasn't as slight as a female, but his height and weight were easily manageable for Legolas. Galion did not struggle, but relaxed and allowed it, his legs kicking slightly as he played with a lock of Legolas' hair. 

The water was still hot, and was fragranced with some sweet smelling oil. Steam had gathered in the room, and Legolas walked into the sunken bath with Galion in his arms. He was surprised he hadn't been woken from sleep. Galion must have brought several servants with him to fill the bath. They must have been so silent.

He let Galion go and dipped under the water, coming up to lounge against the side. “Wash my hair, slave,” he ordered with a flick of water and a smile, feeling playful. The servant moved close to obey, pouring water first, then lathering Legolas' hair, his fingers moving in firm circular movements that felt fantastic. Legolas relaxed as Galion took position behind him, his back against Galion's chest. 

“Now,” he said. “Tell me all about last night.”

“After I left you, I went back to your father immediately,” Galion began. “He didn't seem to have moved, so I took my usual place beside him. I can drift into reverie there as well as he does. You woke me from it when you spoke my name earlier.”

“And then?” Legolas asked, full of eager curiosity.

“Well, he was not sleeping at all...” Galion said, then rinsed Legolas' hair, making sure that the water cascaded in such a way that none of it got in his eyes. Legolas found himself relaxing further as Galion began to wash the rest of his body.

Before he could remind Galion to continue again, the servant began speaking, describing what had happened, and Legolas listened, rapt, as Galion revealed secrets to him that went way beyond whatever naughtiness he engaged in with Legolas' father.

“I ventured quietly into the hall,” Galion began, “and the King – my Master – had not moved. I am so well used to looking at him, I was sure I would be able to tell. A part of me wished that he had missed my presence, but I took my usual place and let my eyes unfocus in reverie. It is easy for me to do this on demand after these numberless centuries. Too easy, and were it not for the service I provide to my Master, I am certain I would sleep these ages away. Perhaps even turn to stone, like the elders of my tribe did once upon a time.”

“How old are you?” Legolas asked suddenly, intrigued. Elves turning to stone? He had never heard of such a thing! Galion was combing through his hair now, and behind him he felt the slighter elf shrug. 

“I do not know. Many thousands of years, perhaps. Immortality is not granted by time, Legolas, but by continued participation. Your father is a case in point, but he will come back to us.” 

Galion sounded certain, and it soothed Legolas a little. It made his fear for his father seem like a trifling, transient thing. For a long moment, Galion said nothing, then he mused upon his own words, as if he were talking only to himself.

“I have read your books, and I know your legends, your myths. If, as foretold, the elves are to endure until Arda is unmade, then it was wise of the Valar to prepare a place of peace for them in the far West. Wise indeed. Perhaps it is true that in such a place, the weariness of our long existence is not such a burden. Perhaps it is true we will all meet there one day.”

Galion spoke in such an odd way, as if in part he were not an elf at all. As if he were not one of them, and it made an eerie prickle of sensation race over Legolas' skin. If Galion did not consider himself part of history, was that because he had not shared in it? Was he truly that ancient? If only Elrond were here, he would know what all of this meant. Legolas swallowed loudly, aware of the touch of Galion's hands on him. 

“I should like that,” Galion whispered, as if Legolas were not even with him. “To meet again. I should like that very much.”

“Continue the story,” Legolas said, nearly pleading so that Galion would stop the reflections that made him so uneasy. “What happened next with my father?”

Galion's arms closed around him, and squeezed lightly. “Do not be afraid, pen neth,” Galion whispered, and Legolas felt his body relax at the kind reassurance, as if to do other than what Galion suggested was impossible. There was no cause to be nervous. Wasn't this Galion, who had cared for him all of his life? Always respectful, quiet and meek? Legolas sighed and leaned his head back, his eyes closed in trust. Galion's lips brushed over his temple. Then he continued.

“I drifted, and I began to think of ways to bring Elrond half-elven to the palace,” Galion said. “If anyone can awaken my Master, it will be him...”

Yes, Legolas thought hazily. Bring Elrond here. He had thought of it himself, for his father's sake. He would also know about elves who turned to stone, though the idea of revealing Galion's secrets – even to Elrond – felt wrong. Those confidences were given to him alone. He would not break them, not even to satisfy his own curiosity. He listened as Galion told of the previous night's events...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where have you been?” I jumped, having almost reached that meditative place in my mind. So he was awake at last. An answer was required of me, and I thought of Legolas. I decided to keep him anonymous. I could entertain Thranduil without the use of his name.

“Sire,” I said, then corrected myself almost immediately. “I m-mean, Master. I was called away, but I returned to your side as soon as I could.”

I turned my head to look up at him where he perched on the throne, and I was sure to look at him from below my lashes, as if the sight of him filled me with awe and fear. In a way it does, for the King Thranduil is as beautiful as his father. And his son. I lowered my gaze when he stood up and came before me, and found myself staring at his shoulder, for he is much taller than I.

“You were called away?” Thranduil asked, as if he did not believe it, and I had given him no reason to. I am purposeful in my way, and I let him admonish me. “You, Galion, have no family, you keep no friends, you give no counsel. You have no responsibilities. You serve only me. What would such as you be called away for?”

I trembled. It came easily, for I knew the kind of punishment I invited, and it would be hard to bear. But I encouraged it because it keeps me interested in this life. It is a necessary spice. Without it, I would decline to partake in the feast. I am full and empty at the same time. Oh, I needed this very much.

“I am sorry, Master,” I said quietly, still not looking up, and I knew I would rouse his impatience. Sure enough, I felt his hands grasping the front of my clothes to pull me close. I deliberately stumbled forward with a cry of alarm as he sniffed at me. Now he knew, and I looked up at last, swallowing, as a devilish smile curved his lips.

“I should have guessed,” he said with exaggerated malice, for this is always a game, despite appearances. There is nothing truly dark in Thranduil and he would not refuse me lovers if I wanted them. But I played my part. I shivered. “Disloyalty. Did you not learn your lesson the last time?”

The last time I played with him like this was when he lost Nimbrethil. He was so tired then, and too young to be so. I tormented him with my misdemeanours until he tired of punishing me and became interested in the world again. He looked upon me with a strange twinkle in his eyes that did not belong to this game, and I realised he knew the aim of it, and was grateful. I smiled to acknowledge it, but my answer was designed to inflame him further. To awaken him.

“You have so many lessons for me, Master. If I have forgotten one, I am sorry.”

A heavy hand was laid on my shoulder, and he steered me to the door of the chamber. “With me,” he ordered. “Together, Galion, we shall find out just how disobedient you have been, and with whom.”

I felt a very real sense of foreboding in my heart, and I knew it did not have to be like this between us. Even then, if I changed certain things in my responses, I could have made him love me, cherish me, promise me eternity. I could have had him lie with me until morning, warm and pleasant. I could even have made him beg for my favour. But that is not what either of us need. Thranduil needs direction and purpose to make him feel alive, even if that purpose is only to punish a wayward slave. That is who he is. I need to be of use. It is what I have become.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I see no marks on you,” Legolas blurted as Galion urged him out of the bath, only to wrap him in a warm fluffy towel. Legolas blushed. “I mean,” he said, gesturing with his hand. “It does not look as if you were punished.”

Just as with knowing the context of Galion's service to his father, Legolas was also aware of the kind of sexual games his father favoured. He knew his mother had been partial to them too, though he had never spoken of it. It was certainly not his business! And yet... if Thranduil had punished Galion, then it was in some way that could not be seen. The only mark on him was the bite Legolas had given him earlier. Something for which he now began to feel guilty. Galion would shortly face the consequences for that, not him.

Galion did not reply, and only rubbed a towel through Legolas' hair, remaining silent. Despite everything, the servant was being deliberately insolent, and try as he might, Legolas could not help but respond to it.

“Answer me,” he commanded, turning and catching hold of Galion's wrists to stop him in his work. Galion drew in a quick breath, but did not try to break free. His eyes darkened.

“What question would you have me answer, Prince Legolas?” he queried, his voice soft with deference.

“How were you punished?”

Galion licked his lips. The act drew Legolas' attention to them, and he moved a half-step closer, his hands letting go of Galion's wrists to rest lightly on his hips. “I screamed. I cried. I was in pain. Be in no doubt, I begged his forgiveness as earnestly as I have ever done anything.”

The words skimmed across the surface of Legolas' mind. He found himself watching the way Galion's lips moved. Another half step, and now their bodies were touching. Legolas inclined his head to taste those lips...

“Why do you wish to know how he achieved it? Do you wish to do it to me yourself?”

The questions stopped Legolas in his tracks. From nowhere he remembered his momentary fantasy of having Galion tied to his bed, helpless. “Yes,” he said suddenly, even though he didn't understand where the desire came from, especially now that Galion had confided so much to him. The relative difference in their height meant that Legolas was looking down on the servant slightly, and that did not make him feel any better about his admission.

Galion looked down and away, so Legolas merely cupped his chin in one hand, forcing him to make eye contact. Oh, but he was so beautiful! It was then that Legolas understood much about Galion that he'd only half-grasped before.

“You could make me love you, cherish you, promise you eternity,” Legolas said, quoting Galion's own words. “I would do it gladly.” He narrowed his eyes to keep the thought before the servant could make him forget it. “ _You_ wish for this. For something else.”

To his surprise, Galion reached up and wound his arms around Legolas' neck, standing on tip-toe to kiss him on the lips, giving him what he wanted. His body was lithe and slender, and he fit into Legolas' embrace perfectly. 

“Well done, Prince Legolas,” said Galion warmly. “Come. Get dressed and I shall give you your answer while you eat breakfast. Then you may decide...” Galion winked. “For yourself, what you wish.”

Stunned, Legolas followed the old servant back into his room and dressed hastily, so that soon he found himself seated with breakfast before him. Where he was, he had full view of his divan, and Galion, still naked, strolled over to it with a sigh.

Legolas toyed with his spoon, twirling it in the dish of oatmeal and apple as Galion laid back upon the bed, so inviting that Legolas was seized with the need to go over there and claim him. Only the promise of knowing what his father did kept him still. 

“He bound me to his bed,” Galion said, his face tilted up to the ceiling, his arms and legs stretched out to the four corners of the divan. The bed was too big for him: it made Galion seem small and lonely. As Legolas watched he moved his limbs as though he were restrained, writhing, his damp hair clinging to him as if he were bathed in sweat. 

“Oropherion has some very wicked ways to restrain his lovers, but he also has bracelets and anklets lined with the softest fur, so that no amount of struggle will cause injury. These he uses when he intends for his servant to resist.”

Galion finished speaking, and now lie quite still on the bed. “These he put on me.” The servant let his head fall to the side, as if watching someone at the side of the bed. “He poured oil onto his hands, and onto a slender toy he used to penetrate me.”

Legolas could see it all so clearly as Galion replayed it for him, arching up from the bed with a whimpering moan. “Still he did not question me. But he touched...” There was a loud clink as Legolas dropped his spoon into the dish. He had not eaten a thing. Galion was moaning and making a show of struggling again, just as if those restraints were on him. 

“It is nice now,” Galion said, his hips lifting from the bed in little jerky movements as Legolas stood up and walked over to him. “But when I am aching and hard, his hands leave me.”

Legolas stood at the side of the bed in silence, looking down as Galion breathed in and out, his muscles taut. “I cannot move or get free, and I cannot get relief. He watches me, unblinking, as I beg for his mercy. For compassion.”

“At last the need to be somewhere – to have his touch – eases. And of course, that is when he returns his hands, working me up to that fever pitch of need all over again. So deliberate. Over and over again, for an hour or longer he plays this game. I am need. My body aches all over. I shiver because I feel cold, though my skin is damp with sweat and my hair is wet through. It is intended to cause pain, what he does. And I am pain. I am whatever he wishes me to be.”

Legolas reached out with a hand to Galion's chest, to touch him there and release him from the memory. But he hesitated when Galion spoke again, hearing his father's words from those perfect lips that were twisted now in anguish.

“You, Galion, are the property of the King, as you know very well. Who has used you? Who has given you pleasure?” Galion cried but did not speak an answer. It was he, Legolas, who had done it. 

“Master, please!” Galion begged, and his suffering was exquisite. He was hard now at the memory of it, and Legolas moved his hand again, this time lower down. He would end this. Yet his touch did not inspire the reaction he hoped for.

“No more, please, Master, no more,” Galion gibbered, and yet his body rose to Legolas' hand. “Oh, touch me! Please touch me!” Legolas did so, watching Galion's hardness in his hand, then switching to look at his face. The lines of anguish were gone, and Galion lie there giving Legolas a look of invitation and yearning. 

“Why didn't you tell him?” Legolas asked, deliberately continuing the caress; he liked the way it made Galion look, lips parted and eyelashes fluttering. “I do not care to remain nameless.”

Galion sighed, and drew his arms and legs back in towards his body. He turned onto his side, dislodging Legolas' grip. “Because he needed to do it, and I needed...” Galion frowned, his voice trailing off. 

“A necessary spice?” Legolas asked, sitting on the side of the bed, and Galion smiled at him.

“Yes. That is it.”

It finally sank in then that whatever his father did, Galion not only consented to it: he made it happen. Galion had been telling him that very thing all the way through.

“I don't want to do that to you,” Legolas confessed. It had been difficult enough to watch Galion recall it for his sake. Then he smiled. “But I do want to restrain you, and perhaps get you into terrible trouble.” He paused. “On a regular basis.”

“I would like that,” Galion replied, turning onto his back again, and something about him was so seductive Legolas wished he could begin at that very moment. Before he realised quite what he was doing, he was sprawled over Galion, fully dressed, hands holding his wrists down to the bed.

“Whatever I want, you would not be able to stop me,” Legolas said quietly, tightening his grip when Galion struggled slightly, teasing him. “It suits you to be helpless.”

“I should go now,” Galion said seriously. Legolas decided to ignore him, and instead of letting him go, kissed the bruise he had made on Galion's neck. “Your father will expect me soon.” Again Legolas ignored his words, and ignored his feeble attempts to get free. He, Legolas, was bigger and stronger. 

“Legolas...” Galion sighed. “Your father must not awaken alone.”

That sentence came upon him like ice water. Legolas could not help imagining his father awakening alone when he was used to Galion's attention, and how lonely that would make him feel. He drew back quickly, letting Galion free at once. 

“I will find you later,” Galion promised, laying a hand on Legolas' cheek. “Then...” He drew in a deep breath. “You may do whatever you wish.”

Legolas sat on the side of the bed and watched as Galion retrieved his clothing and put it on.

“Take good care of him,” Legolas said suddenly, and then blushed a little, remembering how Galion had awoken him.

“Yes, Prince Legolas.” Then he was gone. Again. 

Legolas threw himself back on his bed, completely bemused. Whatever happened between them, he was quite sure that Galion would always be in complete control of it all. He supposed his father knew that too, and suddenly he laughed out loud. No wonder Galion infuriated Thranduil so much!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Hope you enjoyed! Please consider leaving a comment for the Galion muse... he's very shy. I will respond to any reviews.


	7. Galion 2

**Galion 2**

Celeborn strode purposefully through the palace of Thranduil, the last ElvenKing of Middle Earth, lamp in hand. It was not necessary for him to seek Galion out. If he paused and closed his eyes, Celeborn could sense the ancient servant. It was a thrum of something in his mind. Power, perhaps. Not unlike the mindspeaking he and Galadriel indulged in from time to time.

Whatever room Galion was in was irrelevant. Celeborn found it and knocked respectfully on the door before entering. How unassuming he was! Celeborn was not taken in, however. This is where it came from, the gentle humming of a presence. He walked across the room to where Galion was sitting, and knelt as a mark of respect.

“Do you make a habit of kneeling in front of mere servants?” Galion asked coolly without opening his eyes. The servant was sitting in a chair, sprawled out, a wine glass tilting dangerously in his hand so that Celeborn wanted to take it before it could fall and smash on the floor.

“No,” Celeborn replied serenely, smiling. “Neither do I make a habit of kneeling before the ancients, but then I never met one before.”

“Your Lady is ancient enough,” Galion replied.

“Not like you.”

At last, the servant opened his eyes. “Oh, do get up,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “There's a perfectly good chair... somewhere...” He waved vaguely with the glass.

Celeborn found a chair and drew it closer to Galion's own. The other elf was so enchanting, and though he knew it was not deliberately done he could not help that it worked on him. He drew in a steadying breath. “I bring a message from Galadr - ,” he began, only to stop when Galion scowled at him.

“Yes, yes, that's all very well. I know. She sent you in the end, did she?” Celeborn opened his eyes wide. “For years now she's been pecking away,” Galion complained, “trying to talk at me from a distance. I want no part in it, whatever it is. Will you tell her that?”

Disconcerted, Celeborn did not know what to say. He was used to being listened to, respected. He was old himself, if not ancient compared to Galion, and he was so accustomed to having a certain effect even on most elves that this attitude from Galion completely threw him.

Although he had been sent with a message, it wasn't the primary purpose of his visit. His purpose had been to ease Thranduil, and he was making great headway with that. But now this? Celeborn bit his lip, unsure what to do. He couldn't reach out to Galadriel, for if he did Galion would surely hear it.

“All you have to do is tell your Lady Galadriel to leave me alone.” Galion spoke as if he had been listening to Celeborn's thoughts. Perhaps he had. Though he had teased Thranduil with the idea of it mere minutes ago, others' thoughts were only a signal of intent, a vague sense. Who knew what Galion could hear?

“And tell her she nags.”

Celeborn suddenly laughed out loud. It felt good. “I will tell her, if you insist,” he said. “But we need you.”

“You do not. And even if you did, I am not interested. Do you understand?”

Again, Celeborn struggled for a response. Where was the wisdom that should be present here in this ancient elf? Galadriel was wise. Elrond too, being part Maia, was wise beyond his years, many as they were.

“We do not change, no matter how ancient we become,” Galion told him, again, as if he had been listening to Celeborn's thoughts. “Look to your own history, and see how the elves of the First Age acted. That is the truth of it. And that is our curse. We live forever, but we do not grow up.”

“And perhaps it is a good thing,” Galion continued, “else we would all become some boring, wise, uniform lump of elvenkind. Preaching to the mortals forever and ever until they evetually rose up to destroy us, just as they would any tyrant.”

“But Sauron -”

“Is not my concern. I did not involve myself in the last great mess, and Oropher understood my reasoning. I won't involve myself in this one.”

“What are you interested in?” Celeborn asked, and then actually blushed, given that he had a sudden thought that he wished it was him.

“At the moment... Thranduil.” Galion yawned and crossed his legs. “He entertains me, and so does Legolas.”

The real reason he had found Galion tonight was suddenly in his mind. “Thranduil does not require your...” he struggled for the word, “services, tonight.”

“Good. Tell him you found me passed out in the wine cellar. That should make his blood burn a little.”

Celeborn gasped, shocked, as Galion stood up and stretched out his arms, then placed the glass on a side table. He turned to where Celeborn was sitting and despite his small stature it was as if he loomed. Celeborn was suddenly filled with superstitious dread as he sensed Galion's mind opening up a little. He saw a settlement in the icy wastes of Forodwaith, and he understood the missing ones, how they came back changed and violent. Damaged. The making of the Orcs! Celeborn thought he would scream, but then the disturbing impression was gone.

“I want no part of it,” Galion repeated, and Celeborn nodded instantly. “It is too much. Too heartbreaking.”

“Avari,” he breathed, and Galion did not deny it. “Why do you not tell her yourself? You must be powerful enough...”

“And begin a conversation? I think not... you will tell her, for me.”

Galion smiled, and all of a sudden he wasn't intimidating at all, just another elf, small of stature, somewhat beguiling.

“Of course, I will do whatever you wish of me,” Celeborn said, once more entranced. Galion nodded, then turned away, and it was so silly now to think there had been anything frightening about him at all.

Galion walked away, and as he reached the door, he paused, smiling. “Go back to Thranduil now. He awaits you.” Then he was gone.

 

~ finis ~

 

 **Author's Note:** I have deleted all of my work from Ao3 in protest at their non-existent abuse policy, which means that victims of trolls are held equally responsible for the attacks they receive. Yes, you read that right. Some chapters of this work remain in situ since they were written as gifts. For more of the author's work, including the story that inspired these chapters and more missing scenes, please see: http://members.adult-fanfiction.org/profile.php?no=1296767214&view=story

Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Note:** Thank you for reading. I hope you had fun! Please leave a comment. I will reply.
> 
>  **Translations:**  
>  _tâd maeluilas nín_ – my two lustful leafs  
>  _maelui lass_ – lustful leaf  
>  _ion nín_ – my son  
>  _Ada_ – father  
>  _aran-nín_ – my King  
>  _Peredhil_ – half elf  
>  _lass nín_ – my leaf


End file.
